


but if we learn how to live like this, maybe we can learn how to start again

by beefwellington



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Chance Meetings, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Growing Up, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Stanley Uris Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-09 15:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beefwellington/pseuds/beefwellington
Summary: Richie isn't watching the stars with the others, only the moon and how bright it shines down on them. He thinks about Bev and how she hasn't called them, about how he can't call her because they don't know her phone number.He thinks about Eddie and maybe if he believed hard enough, the two of them could be watching the same night sky together, miles apart.-Or, Richie and Eddie forget one another when they leave Derry.





	1. 1990 - 1994

_ 1990\. _

Beverly leaves when Richie is fourteen years old, saying she's moving down to Illinois with her father to be closer to their other family. She tells him this a week before her scheduled move.

After a few arguments about what they should do for her last day, she tells them they could just help her pack the rest of her things. When they arrive at her house, most of her things were already packed, but Stan and Mike start putting the rest of the things into empty boxes and the others decide to help. Richie tries to move as slowly as he can, as if packing slower would delay her move.

When they're finally done less than an half an hour later, their only scheduled plan for that day finished, they sit in a small circle in the middle of the room, knees touching knees.

"So," Richie starts, sputters on a joke that's on the tip of his tongue before giving up.

"I'll m-miss you," Bill says after a look at Richie before smiling at Bev with crinkles in his eyes.

"Yeah, me too," Ben adds.

"I think we'll all miss her, guys," Richie says.

Beverly smiles at the six of them. "I'll miss you guys as well."

After a beat, Richie jumps up. "It's getting stuffy in here," he says, walking out the door without waiting to see if anyone was following. The others glance around amongst themselves but stand up and follow him out anyway.

He's a few feet ahead but they catch up quickly, following silently behind him as they walk out into the dark, illuminated only by the street lamps. The curfew was still in place for a reason Richie can't remember why, but no one seemed to enforce it these days, so he walks along. Away from Bev's apartment, in a park the seven of them had never been to all together (usually it involved Richie, Eddie, Stan, and Bill from when they were in elementary school), but he's all for making new memories right before she leaves.

He holds out his arms and collapses backwards onto the grass, letting his knees buckle before he hits the ground hard and bounces. Richie sits up an inch, looks at the others, then pats the ground beside him, beckoning for them to lie down beside him.

The others shrug their shoulders and lie down, eerily silent for their group, and watch the night sky, the clouds shifting over the moon, and the smallest drops of the stars shimmer their way down to them.

"Lucky seven," Ben says, quietly.

"Think we'll s-still b-be lucky when B-Bev leaves?" Bill asks.

"I know I'll still be lucky - with your mom!" Richie exclaims, raising his hand to Stan for a high-five. Stan grabs his wrist and pulls it down instantly.

"I won't be gone," says Bev, the same volume as Ben had spoken with before. "I'll write and phone every week."

"B-but you won't be here," says Bill, a tone in his voice that no one has heard before.

They stay out under the stars for the rest of the night, getting up only when the sun starts to crawl its way up from the horizon, and Bev shoots up and says she has to get home.

*

A week later, she leaves them with a wave and a small smile, (which even years later, Richie will not forget the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes) and gets into her dad's truck.

"Make sure to phone us!" Ben yells.

Eddie's cheeks are red and puffy, Bill is sniffling beside him, Ben is staring solemnly at the car as it drives away, Stan is frowning, and Mike is glancing at Bill and Ben.

"She always was the strongest of us, huh?" Stan says after a moment, voice watery.

"T-think she'll f-forget us?" asks Bill.

No one responds; the idea of Bev forgetting them makes their hearts ache. No one has the heart in them to bring up why she never called them again.

*

Eddie is next to announce his leave, walking up dejectedly at lunch - an empty spot in the corner beside Bill - with his head low.

"What's up, Eds?" Richie asks first when he spots him. "Date stand you up?"

"I'm - my mom is moving us to New York," Eddie says, and everyone stops their eating to look at him.

"W-what?" Bill asks him. "Why?"

Richie is stunned silent.

"She says it's too dangerous here for me, too many murderers." He doesn't mention the part where she had also spat his friends' names out one by one, with a cruel comment attached to each of them.

"So you're going to New York? Doesn't she know there's like, twenty murders a day there?" Richie says and Eddie just looks at him with sad eyes, not even bothering to tell him to shut up.

"When are you leaving?" asks Stan.

"Um. Tomorrow morning." Eddie presses his hands together in front of him.

Everyone jumps up immediately, yelling out _ "tomorrow?!" _and earning a glare from the teacher in the cafeteria.

Richie points a finger at him accusingly. "Why didn't you tell us?!"

Eddie furrows his brow. "Hey, I only just found out myself last night! She called me down into the living room and just sprang it on me! You think I'd keep you guys in the dark?"

Richie lowers his finger but gives him a look, watching the boy fumble with the his fanny pack as if he were going to open it.

"Let's skip class, then. See you off," Stan suggests.

"Ooh, Stanley Uris, finally decided to quit being a Goody Two-Shoes and commit some crimes with us?" Richie asks.

Stan rolls his eyes. "I didn't say crimes - I just said let's skip class. Unless, of course, you _ didn't _want to see Eddie off, seeing as how your math class is more important than your best friend."

"Stan, you always know how to sweet talk me," Richie says, slinging one arm over Stan's shoulders (before he shrugs it off) and another over Eddie's. "Tally-ho, chaps!"

*

They go to Mike's farm while he's working, and Mike raises an eyebrow as he watches the five of them stomp their way through the mud and dirt.

"Oh my God, why couldn't we go to a restaurant or something? I'm going to get ringworm," Eddie says, hands planted firmly on Richie's shoulders as he tries to avoid stepping on the ground as much as possible. "Or I'm gonna get stung by a mosquito and contract malaria."

"Did you want me to carry you, princess? Over the shoulder or bridal style?" Richie asks and Eddie shoves him with his shoulder.

They meet with Mike on the front porch and explain the situation, a sad look in Mike's eyes knowing that he'll have to say goodbye to another one of his friends. He tells them that they can spend the night at his house, because he knows just the perfect thing for a send-off.

*

After Mike has finished feeding the cows and the chickens (an act that amused Richie to no end and freaked Eddie out even more), the six of them sit down in the living room, ignoring the couch in favor of sitting in a circle (an act which seems to be their modus whenever someone is leaving).

No one knows what to say - especially not Richie. His best friend is leaving tomorrow, in less than twenty four hours.

"Maybe the plane will be grounded," Richie says, breaking the silence. "Like, it'll start snowing."

"It's the middle of September," Eddie says and sighs, face in between his hands.

"You never know."

"No, I do know. It's never snowed in the middle of September."

"It could."

"No, it couldn't. It's like sixty degrees out right now."

Richie's about to make another comment, probably prolonging the argument by another five minutes, before he notices the lack of input from anyone else. He looks around the same time Eddie does and notices the others just watching the two of them.

"What is it?" Eddie asks, voice squeaking out with embarrassment.

Ben looks at him. "Nothing, I just think we're going to miss this."

"I won't."

Richie slings an arm around Eddie. "Aw, don't be like that!" He looks to the rest of the group. "Eds here will phone everyday and we can put him on speakerphone and it'll be like he hasn't even left!"

"Maybe it's good you two are splitting up, that way I don't have to see you two flirting everyday," Stan says.

"We're not flirting," Richie and Eddie say at the same time, though Richie doesn't remove his arm from Eddie's shoulders and doesn't look like he's going to anytime soon. Bill raises an eyebrow at the two of them.

The room falls to silence once again. In the middle of the afternoon in the country, the only sounds the boys can hear is the wind rustling against the house.

"So, what's this perfect send-off you had, Mike?" Ben asks.

Mike smiles. "We'll have to wait for it to get dark."

*

When the sun has set and Richie can't see an past his arm which holds onto Stan's shirt in front of him who's holding onto Bill's arm who's holding onto Mike, holding a flashlight to guide them through the cornstalks. Richie can feel Eddie holding tightly on Richie's hand with both of his own, and Ben holds onto the belt of Eddie's fanny pack in a long, disastrous tango line.

Mike stops, causing the rest of the group to stop suddenly, before he points the flashlight back at the five of them.

"We're here," he says, pointing the flashlight back around at a pile of hay bales.

"I woulda brought my cowboy hat if I'd had known we were gonna do a photoshoot," Richie says, pulling away from the line and placing one leg high up onto the bale. "How do I look, pardners?" he asks with a Southern drawl.

Mike ignores him and gestures for everyone to sit down. They slowly climb up, trying not to slip on the hay, Eddie climbing up last.

"I'm going to get Farmer's Lung or something, sitting on these things," he says, but he doesn't move.

"How do you even know what that is?" Mike asks, shutting off the flashlight, draping the six of them in darkness.

There's a beat before Eddie responds. "My mom told me about it when I said I went to your house a few months ago."

"Well, you don't need to worry about Farmer's Lung. This hay is fresh." He slaps the top of the bale, lies on his back, and points to a bright star in the sky. "Look, that's the North Star."

They lie down on their backs beside him, Richie jumping backward and landing with a dull thud, as Mike moves his finger to the left. "That's the big dipper, a part of Ursa Major." He moves his finger again. "And that's Draco."

Over the course of the night he waves his hands across the sky, pointing out different constellations with no meaning behind them. At one point in the night, when he has exhausted his knowledge of the sky, they lie on their backs in silence, watching the stars together, shoulders touching shoulders. A bird sounds off in the distance.

"That sounds like a robin," Stan adds, half asleep.

Eddie sits up. "We should get going, guys. My mom's probably gonna call the cops if she hasn't already."

The reality of this night sets in for Richie. They wouldn't be able to do this together anymore because they were splitting apart; they wouldn't be able to see Eddie anymore. The dynamic of the group had already shifted since Bev had left; Ben and Bill were quieter, and even Richie felt himself holding back a few jokes. How would it change when Eddie was gone?

He reaches out and grabs onto Eddie's wrist, stopping him halfway between standing and sitting, and tugs him so suddenly that he lands right back beside Richie.

Eddie doesn't say anything, staring back at Richie, wide-eyed. Richie desperately wants him to say something - _ anything. _ Maybe, _ 'what the fuck? What did you do that for?' _ or _ 'it's pitch black out, do you want me to hit my head and fall and have a concussion and then I can't leave tomorrow?' _ in which Richie would reply ' _ of course I would, idiot.' _

But he doesn't say anything, simply lies back down on the solid expanse of the hay bale, so large looking compared to the small boy. Richie doesn't smile, just lies back down beside him, hand clasped tightly around his wrist, as Stan snores softly a few feet down.

Sometime while staring at the stars, watching them form into intricate patterns visible only to himself, Richie falls asleep on the hard bales with the cold wind, shoulders pressed between Eddie and Mike. When he wakes up, the sun is starting to burn into his eyes and Eddie has already left.

_ 1991\. _

Richie is fifteen and going into freshman year after the summer ends. Like always, he doesn't want it to end. But this time it's because that means Ben and Bill are leaving, something they had announced within one week of each other with completely unplanned poor timing.

"Where are you going?" Richie asks Ben. Stan and Bill watch with tired eyes as another one of their friends is preparing to leave.

Ben shrugs. "I don't know. My mom just says she's tired of small town life. She's been making hints that we're going to stay with my Aunt in Atlanta."

"Guess you'll be the New Kid again, huh?"

Ben laughs once, though it's filled with a dread in his eyes that Richie hates to see. "I don't think I'll ever make as good friends as I've made with you guys, though."

Richie can't even make a joke, instead holding his arms out wide and hugging him tightly. Stan, Bill, and Mike form a triangle around them, squishing the two of them tightly.

"Don't forget to phone us, Haystack," Richie adds, muffled slightly.

He tries not to mention that Eddie never phoned again aside from the one quick call he made to the group when he touched down in New York City and phoned them from a phonebooth outside of the airport. He tries not to mention how Bev never phoned ever once she left. Instead, he only hugs Ben tighter.

"I won't," Ben says finally. "I'll phone all of you everyday and tell you what's going on, even if it's really boring."

"Attaboy," Richie says, not breaking the hug.

*

Bill announces he's leaving a few days later on a rainy day, walking over from his house straight to Stan's, where he knew the others were watching movies on one of Mike's rare days off from helping with the farm.

He raps once on his door before opening it and walking straight in. He stares at the three of them as they stare right back.

"Hey," Stan says, moving over on the couch, a gesture for Bill to sit and watch the movie with them.

Bill doesn't say anything, instead walking in front of the television.

"My parents are leaving."

The din of the movie roars behind him, a gun blazes in the distance, and Stan moves to turn it down.

"Oh," Stan says, sighing.

"Yeah." He moves to sit between Stan and Ben on the couch, Mike sitting on the armchair in the corner, and Richie on the floor on his stomach. They watch the movie on silent for a few more minutes, no one bothering to ask a question or Richie chiming in with commentary on the movie, despite it being a constant for their movie marathons.

"They - they want to go to Ph-Phoenix" he adds. "They f-f-found G-Georgie's old j-jacket, and I think something in th-them just snapped."

Richie sucks in a breath, heavily, a memory of Bill's brother suddenly returning to him. How could he just forget about him when he got murdered? How could he forget about Neibolt? About Eddie breaking his arm, about Stan's scars across his face (that even now were faintly visible, but he just figured Stan got scratched by a bird he got too close to and left it at that), or about that fucking clown?

He looks around, everyone else's faces painted with the same expression: despair.

Bill looks down at the ground. "I for-forgot, too. We're leaving the-the same time B-Ben is."

"You're popular, you'll fit in no problem at a new school," says Richie.

"I don't want to s-start at a n-new school," says Bill, shaking his head. "I want to s-stay here with you guys."

And Richie, despite having lived through the same announcement three times before, doesn't know what to do aside from stand up, walk over to Bill, and hug him; his knees barely touching the floor, arms around Bill's waist, head pressed into his neck. The others move over to the two of them and follow suit, a useless gesture that he knows comforts no one, but a gesture nonetheless.

He doesn't make a joke when he hears Bill sniffle, arms crushed in the hug, and just prepares to lose two more friends this summer.

*

Something feels blasphemous to go out into the field on Mike's farm and watch the stars again without Eddie and Bev there - despite having done it without Bev the first time.

It's the night before Ben and Bill are supposed to leave, and Richie hasn't felt this type of sting in a long time. After an hour staring silently at the stars - no one in the mood to hear Mike name the constellations - Bill finally breaks the silence.

"Do-do you think we'll hear f-from Bev and Eddie again?" He's between Stan and Mike, hands linked over his chest.

"Yes, of course we will," Stan says, hands pressing flat against the hay bales.

"What do you think they're doing now?" Richie asks, enamoured by the moon.

"Bev is an hour behind us, so maybe she's eating supper now," suggests Ben. "And Eddie's in the same timezone as us. Maybe he's looking at the same stars we are."

Richie isn't looking at the stars, only the moon, and how bright it shines down on them. He thinks about Bev and how she hasn't called them and they can't call her because they don't know her phone number. He thinks about Eddie, and maybe if he could believe hard enough, they could be watching the same night sky together, miles apart.

"We should make this a tradition, no matter how far apart we end up," Mike says. "We'll always look at the constellations at the end of August."

Everyone makes a noise which sounds like an agreement, a tamer version of the blood oath they made after Neibolt and with much less blood, but word is bond among them. After sitting in silence for a few more moments, a sudden shriek cries out in the night, causing the five of them to sit up suddenly.

"What the fuck was that?" Richie hisses. "That sounded like someone getting murdered."

"Let's g-get out of here, guys," Bill says, moving to stand up. "Th-that was f-f-freaky."

Stan moves a hand to his arm to stop him, eyes drooping heavily from his nap before he got woken up by the noise.

"That was just a barn owl," says Stan, and Bill makes a face but sits back down anyway.

Richie thinks Stan would sleep in the bitter frost if it meant he could wake up to the birds chirping, but he doesn't say it out loud. His friends were leaving again in less than twelve hours and his heart just wasn't in it.

*

It's the last day of summer before Eddie starts high school. He feels like an adult, or at least on his way to becoming one, despite his mother's prior insistence that she had to walk him to the bus stop and wait until the bus showed.

He had made no friends in his last year at middle school, instead sitting alone at a table in the corner with his lunch. For the few group projects they had, he would wait until everyone else chose a group then get manually assigned to one by the teacher. He was the outcast, the new kid, the freak that had too many issues. But something about changing all of that, even taking off his fanny pack, felt like a change in his entire being that he didn't have the heart to do.

That night, Eddie waits until his mother is asleep before leaving the apartment as quietly as he can, taking along his fanny pack and a pillow, and sneaks off to the rooftop. There, he lies down on the hard concrete, puts the pillow behind his head, and watches the lights of the buildings swirl around in the sky, reflecting off the clouds. It was way past sunset yet he couldn't see a star in the sky, but Eddie can't remember a time where he even _ could _see stars in the sky; light pollution and clouds and skyscrapers is all he knows.

He falls asleep to the sound of car horns and tires screeching, underneath the bright lights, and when he wakes up the sun hasn't even risen yet. He sneaks back into his apartment and goes back to sleep in his own bed.

*

When it's time for Eddie to go to school, he insists his mother does not walk him to the bus stop. She puts up a fuss at first, but he promises he'll call her when he gets there. She says that she'll phone the school if he doesn't, and Eddie knows she isn't lying, so he triple checks his pocket to make sure there's enough change for the phonebooth.

High school isn't much different than middle school, or at least how _ his _ middle school experience went. He gets ignored at school for wearing things that weren't in style, for wearing a fanny pack, for taking out his inhaler during the opening assembly. His morning classes are a blur of non-stop explaining what the classes will be like, what his time at the high school will be like, and how they'll have the times of their lives.

And that's when he meets Matt, who raises his hand and when the teacher calls on him, asks, "does that mean will be the very best years of our life? Isn't that kinda sad?"

The class gives an awkward chuckle, but Eddie doesn't. He scowls at Matt, at the teacher's disapproving shake of her head, and at his brown hair and brown eyes underneath black glasses. When Matt catches Eddie scowling at him, he pretends to be afraid before winking once and turning his attention back to the teacher.

He tries to shove the encounter to the back of his mind, but something about the boy seemed familiar to him. At lunch, he spots Matt sitting alone in a far corner table of the cafeteria and asks if he can join him. Matt makes a dramatic gesture as he stands up, bows with an arm extended for Eddie to sit, then joins him at the table again.

"You weren't in our middle school, were you?" Matt asks in between bites of his hamburger. "Where are you from?"

"Um," Eddie sputters. He can't remember. He doesn't know. "A different middle school?"

"No shit. Anywhere specific? Or are you under oath not to say?"

Eddie furrows his brow, trying to remember deep down where he spent the majority of his life, and fails to remember.

Matt laughs. "You look like you're constipated." He takes another bite. "What did you say your name was?"

"Eddie," he says, trying to will the conversation away from his past.

"Eds, huh?"

He frowns, but something in his chest constricts. "Don't call me that," he mumbles with no real vitriol.

"Would you rather fight one hundred middle schoolers, or one giant middle schooler?" Matt asks, segueing off into a different topic already.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?"

Eddie thinks he should feel annoyed at Matt's rapid pace, but it only makes him want to get to know him better. So he does, hanging around Matt at lunchtime, passing notes in the classes they have together, and hanging out at one another's houses after school.

His mother doesn't say anything, keeps her distance whenever he's over. She doesn't even mention him staying out late frequently; the two just live in the same household with no intentions of acting like a mother to her son.

_ 1992\. _

Richie has been practicing driving in Mike's cars over the summer break with his learner's permit. He had told Stan and Mike that he was just getting ready to get the hell out of Derry, but in reality his truths were stuck somewhere between _ road trip across the states his friends said they were moving to and looking in every corner until they find them. _

He thinks he's a natural despite swiping the side of an old building on Mike's farm and rolling through multiple stop signs. Stan clings desperately to the grip handle despite Richie driving five miles under. Mike does him no favors, either, as he points out every time he would have lost points on his driver's test.

However, a month later when he takes the test and passes on the first try, he attributes it to Mike help and Stan's constant backseat driving, teaching him how to pay attention to the road despite _ disturbances. _ He'll never say that to his face, though.

*

The event is routine: someone leaving at the end of summer. It's not surprise when Stan is even more quiet than he usually is during their walk with Mike. He doesn't even say anything when a bird is on the sidewalk and Richie runs at it to scare it away.

"Stan the Man, what's wrong?" Richie elbows him in the ribs. "Don't tell me: you hit puberty and now you need someone to explain all the changes you'll be experiencing." He places a hand to his chest with pride. "Well, don't worry. You came to the right-"

"I'm moving away," he says, causing Richie's sentence to die off with a quiet _ "man…" _

They're silent for a moment as they walk past the ice cream parlor - the one where Eddie, not two years before, had bought the two of them ice cream and handed one to him and their hands brushed. Richie scolds himself for thinking of Eddie in such a time like this.

"Where are you moving to?" Mike asks, a solemn sound in his voice that sounds like rigid acceptance of the fact that their friends have moved away. Not one of them has contacted them since, despite their promises. They have been forgotten about.

"New York City." He stops walking, turning around to look at the two of them. "It's my fault. I told them I wanted to take accounting in University and they said New York has great accounting firms, and that Derry wasn't going to help anyone's futures, and then my dad found a new synagogue that was close to a high school, and it all just happened so fast."

The two of them take Stan into their arms.

"Stan, it's not your fault, okay?" Richie says, moving to an alleyway when a couple walking past gives them a weird look. "Anyone would wanna move out of this shit town."

They place Stan down onto the concrete steps.

"Do you?" he asks, looking at Richie.

Richie glances between Stan and Mike. "I mean, eventually, yeah." He slings an arm around Mike's shoulders. "But for now, I plan to stay here as long as I can. Maybe I'll become a farmer with Mikey when school's done."

Mike smiles. "Not to crush your dreams, but I don't think I've ever seen you wake up before ten ever." He gets pulled down into a noogie from Richie.

There's a moment where the three of them stand in the alley, an arm slung around Mike's back as they all look at the ground.

"Maybe you'll meet up with Eddie, if you're going to New York City," Richie says.

Stan sighs as if he was trying to hold it back and failed. "It's a big place."

"Yeah, but you never know." Richie pauses, changes his voice into a British accent. "You never know where fate will take you, chap!"

The three laugh. "That was so awful!" says Stan, a small smile on his lips. "If I happen to see him, I'll tell him to phone. If he doesn't want to, I'll pretend to cry until he does."

Mike laughs loudly. "That's the spirit!"

Richie tries to ignore the air in his lungs leaving. His friends were leaving, he tries to believe Stan when he says he'll phone, and pretty soon high school will be over and he'll be leaving Derry as well. He'll be leaving Mike alone in a couple of years.

"So," starts Richie, trying to ignore everything that was rattling in his mind at that point. "August tradition?"

*

Eddie is a sophomore now and sixteen years old. He could get his license, he _ should _ get his license. There's so many places he wants to go and to see without having to take a bus or a train. He brings up the idea to his mother who turns him down instantly, saying he will not get a license because it was _ too dangerous. _He asks again and again, bringing up various points, examples of other students who have got their licenses, the benefits of no longer having to take a bus, but she turns them all down with her own counterpoints.

Frustrated, he vents to Matt after school while in Matt's apartment after the fifth time she turns him down.

"Why don't you get the learner's permit? You can just go down there and take the test," he suggests.

"Yeah, but I need to practice on the road afterward, and I have no one to practice with."

"What about my parents?" Matt asks, gesturing with a thumb to stairs, down which were his parents watching television. "They like you. I don't think they'd mind."

"Are you sure? That seems like a lot to ask of them." Eddie fidgets with his hands. "Like, what if I crash their car? Or get into an accident and someone winds up hurt and the insurance is in their name?"

Matt grabs onto Eddie's shoulders, a technique he's used in the past to calm him down. "Geez, relax. None of that will happen." Eddie gives him a look. "Look, let me ask them. If they say yes then that means they're fully aware of what could happen." He moves one hand away to flick Eddie's cheek. "But you're so cautious. It's hard to imagine you getting into an accident."

Eddie rubs his cheek in his hand but accepts defeat when he's seen it, and that defeat was in the form of a brown-haired boy.

_ 1993\. _

Richie thinks it's hard to live in a place where him and all of his friends grew up together: the same friends that haven't phoned him nor Mike since they left.

When he sees birds, he thinks of Stan telling them all a weird fact about their mating rituals, or hearing New Kids On The Block play over the radio reminds him of Ben, or the pages he received from a story Bill was writing when they were twelve and carefree, or the little hand-sewn bag he got from Bev on their only Christmas together. Then, of course, there was Eddie. _ Everything _ reminded Richie of Eddie: someone wearing shorts or using an inhaler? _ Eddie? _he would think excitedly. Someone with brown hair and doe eyes and a nervous laugh would send him off the deep end.

He was upset that Eddie had forgotten them, forgotten _ him! _Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier! He wants to resent him for forgetting despite leaving three years ago, but he can't, because that was his best friend; they had known one another longer than he had been gone.

It had gotten to the point where Mike was shooting him sympathetic looks whenever they hung out, as if he knew that _ Jurassic Park _ reminded him of how Eddie used to joke that he'd survive the park because he simply wouldn't go there in the first place. The point was, Richie was in _ something _deep, and it wasn't just Eddie's mom anymore (because, as he had mentioned before, they were not here, which was exactly the problem). He was up Shit Creek without a paddle, but the Creek was an ocean and he didn't even have a boat in the first place.

*

One afternoon after a particularly tough day at school, he heads over to Mike's house. All of his friends leaving meant that he has no friends in school he could talk to. Sure, he was funny, but in a class clown sort of way (and when a teacher brings that up to him, something in his stomach twists), and not to mention he still had the remnants of the reputation of a 'Loser.'

Mike calls from around the side, watching the sheep trudge along the yard. Richie treads along the hard mud cautiously before it turns into grass. Mike turns around and looks at him.

"What's up, Richie?" he asks. "You don't usually come here after school."

"I have a question," he starts, which was never a good thing to start on for Richie. "Do you think they forgot about us?"

Mike is silent, turning back to watch the sheep lazily eat the grass. "If I say they forgot, would that be better than saying that they remember us but just don't want to talk to us?"

"I…"

Mike walks past Richie, gesturing for him to follow him inside the house. He guides him back to his room (a place that Richie had only seen once before, mainly sticking to the living room or the outside) and holds out his hand to a mess of papers and books strewn about the desk.

Richie moves toward it, silent as he looks at the books and papers: newspapers from years ago with headlines titled _ Another Missing Child _ and _ Prolific Serial Killer Caught - Over Ten Victims. _ He presses his hand down on a missing child's poster, one with the last name that catches his eye: _ Denbrough. _

"This is really fucking creepy, Mike," he finally says. "I think you just need a board with some lines of yarn on it and you'll complete the look."

Mike shuts the door behind him and steps closer to Richie. "Do you not remember Neibolt? Or It?"

The name rings a bell that Richie hasn't heard ring in a long time, and he starts to feel nauseated. He stumbles over to Mike's bed and sits down on it.

"You don't remember," he says, calmly. "We defeated Pennywise once but he escaped into the well. We took a blood oath." He holds up his palm with the faded scar. "I think that's what's happening. We're forgetting. _ They _forgot."

Richie puts a hand to his head and puts his head between his legs,_ table in the upright position, everyone in the brace position. _"Why didn't you forget then?" he asks, mumbled by the position.

"I've been tracking It, that's why. I've taken notes and clips of articles and photos of whatever I could. I can't forget."

"So you're saying that our friends are just gone? They've just forgotten us and now we'll never see them again be-because we just don't exist to them?" He looks up, stares hard at Mike, who shakes his head.

"I wouldn't know. I'm sorry."

Richie breathes out, breathes in, then breathes out again. "Okay. _ Okay." _

"Okay?"

"So, how do I make sure I don't forget?" Richie wrings his hands together.

A few minutes later, he's leaving with a notebook filled with notes like _ killer clown, stan - bird guy, eddie - hypochondriac, fucked his mother, ben - new kid, fat, bill - stutter, leader, big bill, bev - taught me how to smoke cigs, mike - farmer, home school, told me these notes. _

At home, he throws the notebook onto his bedside table and fears the sleep that's washing over him, afraid that he'll forget everything in the morning.

*

Eddie gets his license and drives him and Matt wherever they want to go. They cruise around the roads at night, going up streets they've never been to before, eating at restaurants Eddie's only heard of. He's grateful to Matt and his parents for letting him practice with them.

His mother has decided not to speak to him about this incident. She had called it a disgrace that he went behind her back and got his license without even consulting her about it first, and Eddie had gotten mad and stormed out, picked up Matt, and drove around the town until he felt he had burned enough gas.

While they're in the car, they talk openly about a lot of things; the close quarters feel less like a metal death cage from the inside to him and more like a space where he's free to say whatever he wants without fear that someone will hear him. On more than one occasion they had parked in an abandoned warehouse parking lot, rolled down the windows, and screamed at the top of their lungs all of the things they wanted to forget.

This time, however, they roll up to the McDonalds, buy enough burgers and fries for an army, and doesn't let Matt feed him fries as he drives to the warehouse because he's worried they'll crash.

"You're such a good driver, though," Matt says, rubbing a fry against Eddie's closed mouth. "Open up, suck it down. The aftertaste is salty."

Eddie huffs. "Trashmouth," he says without thinking, and gets a mouth full of french fry when he does.

"_ Trashmouth? _Where did the sudden nickname come from?" Matt asks, reaching for another fry to pop in his own mouth. "I don't hate it."

He spits out the french fry, tries to breathe and takes a hand off the wheel to try and grasp at the ghost of an inhaler, then remembers that it expired a few months ago and he never bothered to get a new one.

"Woah, are you okay, dude?" he asks Eddie, watching his hand fumble around the console as he pulls into a parking lot and puts the car into park. "What's wrong?" He grabs Eddie's hand in between both of his. "Eddie, you're freaking me out right now."

Eddie turns his head suddenly, looks Matt in the eyes, then feels like he can breathe again, but something isn't right. This isn't his friend, this isn't the _ trashmouth _he knew, the one who owned the nickname before. Before he can focus anymore on that, Matt shoves a hamburger into his hands and wraps his own hands around them.

"Breathe. Eat the burger." Matt takes his hands off and Eddie nods curtly, peeling off the wrapper and biting into it. "What the fuck happened?"

He shakes his head in between bites of the burger. He knows he's terrible at lying, but figures he'll try anyway. "I choked on that french fry, dipshit. That's why you don't cause a distraction to drivers."

"Oh, sorry." He laughs despite thinking he nearly causing Eddie to die and pats him on the back twice, leaving his hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Want to still go to the warehouse?"

"Of fucking course I want to go." Eddie backs out of the parking space and merges back onto the street. "You think nearly choking to death would stop me?"

"That's my Eds," he says, patting his shoulder once more and letting his hand fall down to Eddie's bicep. If Eddie starts to panic again this time, he doesn't show it.

*

He decides what University he wants to go to, _ NYU, _and the course of study he wants to take, which is, of course, a Bachelor's of Finance so he could eventually major in risk assessment.

He tells his mother one afternoon after school, when the Universities have started to advertise around his high school. His mother seems to have very limited objections, and if she does, she keeps them to herself. In fact, she seems pretty happy that he's going to stick around the state and can be able to commute from home to school. Eddie decides to throw her a bone, figuring he'll be busy with studying or a job or hanging out with Matt, and not at the apartment as often as she hopes.

The next person he tells is Matt, who is excited but sad because he thinks he'll be going off to UCLA, since he has family in California and heard about their prestigious law school program.

"But why risk assessment?" Matt asks. "I mean, it suits you. But _ why? _Are you trying to age yourself twenty years?"

Eddie shoves him with his shoulder, a faint memory of some sort of injury to that arm that he figures was just a childhood scrape that he forgot about a week after. "Like you said. It suits me."

*

Richie decides to go to USC after reading about their reputation in the film industry. He wasn't particularly interested in the nitty-gritty of it all, but the writing and the comedy interested him the most. He'd have to move though, away from Mike, away from Derry, and away from his memories.

For a brief moment, he considered NYU, if only on the chance to see Eddie again. But he quells that thought, not even know if Eddie was still _ in _New York, the idea that he left without Richie knowing making his heart ache.

He brings up moving to California to Mike a few weeks after he had gone through his options and settled for USC.

"I'd have to move away," Richie says, pacing back and forth along the carpet of the living room as Mike sat on the couch. "I'd forget you. I'd forget Derry."

"You can't stay here forever," Mike answers. "You have dreams, go and follow them. I'll be here, doing damage control."

"Don't you have any dreams? See the world? Go to college?" He swings his arms out wide. "Don't tell me your dream is to be a full-time farmer."

"My dream is to make sure It doesn't come back in the future, and if it does, then it's my dream to stop it." Mike, ever so collected even when Richie went off about something. Richie was going to miss him.

"_ It?" _ he asks in disbelief, confusion crossing his tone. "What do you mean, _ it?" _

Mike makes a face and raises his hand to slow him down. "You're forgetting again, Richie. Remember Neibolt? The clown? That's how Georgie died and how Stan got those scars. How Eddie got his arm broken when we were kids?"

Richie stops pacing and spins on his heel to face Mike before looking down at his hands. "I fucking forgot again, didn't I? Fuck." He clears his throat. "See, this is what I mean. I _ can't _leave. I have to remember our friends and Derry and - and the fucking clown."

"_ I'll _remember those things, Richie. I'll call you back if he comes back, you made a promise." He holds up his palm again, the line fading fast. Richie looks at his own palm and sees a similar mark running from the base of his thumb to the pinkie. "Go to California."

He sighs, puts down his palm, and looks at Mike. "Okay. _ Okay. _At least let me write down your phone number or something," he says, and Mike stands up to grab a piece of paper and a pen. "Don't forget, I'm not leaving yet, so you're stuck with me for a whole 'nother year at least!"

Mike turns back around and smiles at Richie. "I wouldn't dream of you leaving any sooner."

_ 1994\. _

Prom is coming up. Richie only remembers because, well, it's fucking prom and there's banners everywhere for it. He's been blocked in the hallway by someone inviting a girl to prom at least once a week for a month.

He's bitter because it reminds him of how he hasn't made any new friends since his left years ago. He thinks if Eddie were with him, he'd say that prom is just a gross room full of sweaty teens and germs and why would anyone want to go to that?

But Eddie isn't here, so Richie wants to go. Maybe he doesn't want to actually go, deep down, but he has nothing better to do except for bothering Mike and everyone was talking about prom like it was the second coming. Speaking of Mike, he figures he should ask him to come with him because there was _ nothing _wrong about asking his best friend to the dance, platonically, and considering it was either that or go alone, he'd rather take his friend. 

On his way out of the school, heading to Mike's farm, he's interrupted by a girl blocking his path.

"Uh, hello? Can I help you?" Richie asks.

The girl is cute, but not Richie's type at all (not that he particularly _ knew _what his type was, never having dated anyone).

"Will you, um, go to the prom with me?" she asks.

Richie blinks once, twice, three times. "Who are you again?" he asks, coming off much more meaner than he intended. He doesn't think he's ever met this girl before now.

Her eyes water slightly. "I've been in the same English class as you for three years."

Oh. Apparently he had. Now Richie was a Capital A Asshole. At least the halls had cleared out aside from a group of students at the end of the hall, talking loudly to one another.

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I have plans already."

"What? With your _ girlfriend?" _she sneers. "What else would you be doing that day?"

"Um, I'm helping my friend with his homework," he says, pretending to check a non-existent watch. "Speaking of, gotta go help him now! Bye!" He dashes off in the opposite direction and leaves through the backdoors of the school.

As he walks to Mike's house, he can already hear the ghosting voice of _ Eddie goddamn Kaspbrak _ mumbling in his head, _ nice going, asshole! Now you can't go to prom! Now we're gonna have to put up with you all night. _

He shakes his head, tries to focus on the sky or the road or the wind, ignoring his thoughts of _ Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. _

*

It's almost the end of summer, which meant Richie was leaving. His move-in day is August seventeenth and he's barely even packed. The finality of everything hit him in the beginning of August, and he's barely wanted to do anything but bother Mike as he feeds the chickens or sheers the sheep or milks the cows. Sometimes, he even let Richie do it as he made crude jokes about the milking process.

Today, he has to pack. He has less than a week to get his things together in as little suitcases as possible. His flight leaves in the morning of the start of move-in day and the flight itself was nine hours long. He wanted to be ready, prepared, and overachieving like a true University freshman.

He hears a knock at the door and when he opens it, Mike is standing there, holding folded boxes on top of his arms, a backpack resting on his shoulders. Richie lets him in, glad to have his help.

"Wait, just for clarification, are you here to help or did you just bring the boxes?" Richie asks, walking back to his room.

"That depends," Mike says, letting all the boxes drop onto the carpet, "did you order pizza?"

Richie laughs. "I could, y'know."

Mike waves a hand. "Later. I did bring you a gift of my own." He pulls off the backpack and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Richie takes it gently and looks at the label.

"Fuck _ off, _Mike. No way!" He turns it around in his hands. "Where did you get this?"

Mike shrugs. "I have my ways. By the way," he snatches the bottle back out of Richie's hands and he frowns, "this is only if you get finished packing tonight."

"So you _ did _just come here to bring boxes and not to help." Richie crosses his arms and pouts, but starts to work a moment later.

*

Richie doesn't have many things, so he finishes packing within a few hours, and Mike immediately goes to the kitchen to grab glasses. Richie's parents were out on a business trip, not expected to be back until two days before his flight, so he had the apartment to himself.

He pours a shot for himself and Mike and the two swallow it back before immediately grimacing. But it doesn't stop him as he immediately pours another one and tips his head back, drinking it in one go.

Since Richie had never drank before as seriously as he was now (it's not as if he was getting invited to parties constantly, and the rare time he went to one, they were all drinking beers), he was already starting to get drunk.

"Intoxicated," Richie slips out, a rendition of the Eddie he used to know four years ago. "He would say I'm _ intoxicated, _ and that I should _ drink some water so I don't get a hangover." _

Mike takes another shot, slower than Richie took his second one, then laughs. "You would probably say something like, _ you think I'm intoxicating, Eddie Spaghetti?" _

Richie's in awe. "That's exactly what I would say!" He realizes that they're talking about Eddie - a topic the two of them hadn't spoken about directly in years - and starts to get sad again. Instead of pouring shots, he takes a swig directly from the bottle and passes it to Mike, who also takes a swig.

"Did you like him?" he asks, maintaining his composure much better than Richie was.

Richie sputters. "What? Of course I liked him, he was my friend?" He grabs for the bottle, the conversation too much for him to handle this sober, and takes another swig. "I wouldn't have put up with _ oh my God you're going to get an infection, _ or _ beep-beep Trashmouth _if I didn't like him."

Mike looks at him, truly looks at him, but doesn't say anything.

"Okay, and _ sure, _ maybe I called him cute too many times for one straight friend to call his other straight friend, but he was - _ is _ \- cute." He reaches for the bottle, decides against it. "I'm sure I called Stan cute a few times. Or Ben? Did I ever tell Ben he was cute before he left, because he _ was _cute. Heart of gold, that boy."

Mike cocks an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to stop looking at me like that, Mikey."

Mike raises the other eyebrow up for only a split second before the two of them burst into laughter.

"I thought Bill was the cutest out of all of them," Mike says, making Richie raise his eyebrows.

"Bill? Really? He was so pent up full of anxiety and - and Goldfish crackers." Richie moves his hand along the air, an imitation of a fish.

"Goldfish?" Mike laughs again.

"Yeah, he was always bringing those in his lunches and eating them whenever we used to hang out at the barrens." He pauses, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe you weren't there for that. Probably not, that was back in middle school. He only stopped because Georgie…"

Richie's smile falters, looks down to the ground, and reaches for the whiskey again, taking a long swig. Mike holds out his hand for it and takes a similarly long swig.

"I want to see the stars," says Richie after a moment. "Everyone else got theirs." He stands up, dusting off his pants from non-existent dust, and holding a hand out to Mike to leverage him up. He lets go and the two walk out the door, keys grabbed from the bowl in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other.

"Where we gonna go?" Mike asks, squinting into the dull lights of Richie's street.

Richie waves a hand. "Follow me." He leads the two off the main road into a backstreet that led straight to Bev's old apartment. There, he guides Mike to the same spot the seven of them watched the stars with Bev years ago. He lies down on his back (much more sensibly this time) and Mike lies down beside him, whiskey bottle upright in between them.

"Fitting," Mike says, sitting up slightly to take another swig. He holds it out to Richie, who turns it down. His stomach was starting to turn already, and he figured he doesn't _ want _to be looking at the inside of the toilet bowl for all of the next day.

"What's that one over there?" Richie asks, pointing to no discernible one.

"That's, um, Pegasus," he says after a moment, taking the time to remember the stars. "That one there is Cassiopeia, and to the left of that is Cepheus."

Richie squints his eyes. "I don't see a horse at all."

Mike smiles. "Yeah, they're not very easy to make out if you don't know the shapes."

They sit in silence for another long period of time as Richie admires the stars shining in and out. He points to one high above them.

"What's that one?" he asks.

Mike squints his eyes. "That one's a satellite."

"Think it's listening to us right now?" Richie cups his hands around his mouth. "Fuck you! Stop eavesdropping!" he yells, then bursts into giggles. He pauses again. "Remember how Stan used to fall asleep every time we did this? He must have blood of fucking steel or something to sleep in this weather."

"The birds will keep him warm before he freezes," Mike says.

Richie gasps. "_ That's _why he knew all those bird calls! He was going to call on them for when he was ready to be taken away!"

Mike chokes out a laugh, wheezy in his throat. "Think if we make bird calls now Stan will hear us and fly back to us?" he asks, followed by a shrill _ cheep cheep! _

Richie holds his stomach while laughing and rolling on the ground, making bird noises of his own. _ caw caw! caw caw! tweet tweet tweet! _

"Shut up!" someone yells from a building not too far away, followed by the sound of a shutter slamming shut.

The two immediately freeze and look at one another before bursting into loud, cacophonous laughter. "Let's go," Richie says and they sit upwards at the same time, climbing to their feet, whiskey bottle in hand, as they head back to Richie's apartment.

Years down the line, the first time Richie buys alcohol he will wonder why he chose whiskey thinking he'd like it despite never having tried it before.

*

Matt is packing a suitcase and getting ready to leave. He had been accepted into UCLA and Eddie's helping him get everything in order, mainly by reading off a long list of items he would need for his first day.

"Toothbrush?" Eddie asks, list in one hand, pen in the other.

"I can buy a toothbrush there, dude."

Eddie makes a face. "What about the flight? It's an eight hour flight, you don't want to brush your teeth during that time?"

Matt makes a face at him which Eddie has learned to interpret as _ get a move on, Kaspbrak. _ Eddie circles _ toothbrush. _

"We can skip toothpaste then. Okay. Hairbrush? Towels? Deodorant?"

"I'll just buy all this when I land. Too many extras to pack."

"Then what's the point in packing anything if you can just buy new things when you land?"

"These were expensive clothes!" He holds out his arms and spins around, showing off his hoodie and jeans.

Eddie rolls his eyes, tosses the list and pen onto the bed, and flops down beside them.

"I have everything. Don't worry," he says, and in a rare fit of intimacy from his friend that he had never seen before, Matt leans down, kisses Eddie's cheek with a loud _ mwah! _then turns back around to his bags, seemingly not knowing what his little joke had done to his friend. "I better get going. The flight boards soon."

He picks up his suitcase as Eddie follows him down the stairs and out the door, silently. He watches as Matt's parents take his suitcase to the car and get ready. He turns back to Eddie, arms free, and extends them.

Eddie immediately steps forward, hugs him as tightly as he can, and whispers, _ goodbye, Matt. _After a few moments, they unravel and Matt waves to him once more and moves to get in the car. "Make sure you phone everyday," Eddie adds.

He watches the car drive away, in a scene familiar to him but being unable to pin down the memory, as his heart aches greedily.

*

Eddie's planning on commuting to school, so he has no need to pack - not that he really has any energy to do that, anyway. His mother talks to him about how excited she is that he'll be spending so much more time at home now that his friend was gone and he's going to an in-state University. He sends in as many resumes as he can to any place he finds suitable to his tastes (which were very high, but he tried to lower them slightly so he could actually _ get _a job) and tries not to feel dejected when he doesn't receive a single call back.

Matt, on the other hand, phones him everyday at eight pm central, which was six pm in Matt's time. He talks to Eddie about finding a job, about his roommate, about the introduction party, about everything and nothing. Eddie listens quietly, chiming in with his own triumphs and failures in his life, framing them as if they hadn't just spoken to one another less than a week ago.

The day before his classes start, Eddie has an overwhelming urge to leave his home late at night with a pillow and go to the roof of their apartment. He lies down on the concrete, pillow behind his head, and watches the clouds shift above him. The moon, high in the sky, glares down at him and he feels like it's judging him, so he stares it down and tries to imagine a time when he could picture the stars. A faint memory of _ North Star _ and _ Ursa Major _ and _ Draco _slips to the front of his memory before disappearing as Eddie slips off into sleep, high above the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is [Car Seat Headrest - Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccztRby3FAk)
> 
> (@ the end of it 2: it doesn't have to be like this)


	2. 1994 - 1999

_ 1994 - University. _

Richie manages to get his hands on a fake ID in his first year of university. He hadn't really asked for one, considering he didn't really care to go to clubs or bars, but his friends were constantly going and asking him to come with, and Richie eventually figures he can't turn them down any longer.

The first time they take him out with his new ID (as he sweats the entire time and tries not to stutter as he makes a joke about a _ long day at the office _despite the ID saying he was twenty-one), they go to a comedy club that serves alcohol. Which Richie thought was a weird place to go for his first time stepping foot into a bar, but he doesn't mention it, and his friends end up ordering shots of vodka for the table.

The guy on stage is a short man with eyes going wide when he looks around the audience, but he holds his act well and Richie finds himself laughing loudly at the jokes. The way the man speaks - fast but certain - feels familiar to Richie in a way that he can't explain. When the act is over, Richie finds himself leaving his friends to go and talk to the performer.

"Hey, man, I really liked your act," says Richie. "Not that I've seen many live performances, but I'm betting yours takes the cake." He holds out a hand.

The man raises his hand to stop him, shaking his head. "I don't shake. Too many germs, sorry." He pauses, taking in what Richie said. "I'm glad you liked the act."

Richie nods once, a weird look on his face, before putting his hand down. "The name's Richie."

"Doug." He squints at Richie's face. "Are you planning on performing?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. I'm just here with those assholes." He gestures behind him to the table loudly cheering as they take shots. "I'd have to work on an act first before I perform."

Doug crosses his arms. "You'd be one of the first. Most of the people don't really _ rehearse _before they come on stage. You should see them crash and burn, it's funnier than their actual act."

Richie snorts, crosses his own arms as well. "I'm sure I'll have something that's so much better than them, don't you worry." He pauses. "So, you come here often?"

Doug breathes out a laugh. "Really? That's your pickup line?" He laughs again. "I'm on stage every first of the month, but I stop by every so often to watch the other acts."

"So you're telling me I'll have to wait a whole 'nother month until I can see your handsome face again?" asks Richie, which wasn't one of his _ worst _pickup lines, but it seems to work as Doug visibly checks him out. He hears his friends cheer once again a few feet away and he looks at them. "I guess I better get back, don't want them to have all the fun without me."

He swivels around to leave but gets stopped with a hand on his arm from Doug. "Want to come back to my place instead? That way you don't have to wait a whole month."

The question causes Richie to freeze, but he doesn't bother to remove Doug's hand from where it was hot against his arm. He looks at the man, looks into those wide eyes that seemed filled with fear and maybe Richie was just weak against people with brown, doe eyes, because he can't say no. He nods once, curtly, flattens his lips together.

"Yeah, uh," he stutters out, "lead the way."

Doug smiles, which Richie tries to return, then walks in front and guides him out of the club into the back alley. The two walk beside one another.

"Hey, uh, you're not going to murder me, right?" Richie asks just to fill the air. "If I ask you legally have to answer truthfully."

Doug gives him a look and shoves him with his shoulder. "Do you ask that to everyone you meet?"

Richie shrugs with one shoulder. "Just keeps the ball in my court."

His house was only a block away from the club and Richie is filled with nervous energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Doug unlocks the door. When he's inside, Richie gets pressed against the door immediately in a kiss.

His _ first _ kiss. Unless he was counting kissing his friends on the cheek (which he _ wasn't, _because that would be lame), then this was his first kiss.

Doug kisses his way down Richie's neck, tugs at his shirt which Richie pulls off nervously. The two move over to the couch a few feet away and Richie falls backwards onto it, Doug in between his legs.

"So you'll take a stranger home," Richie says in between kissing, "but you won't shake hands?"

"People sneeze into their hands." Doug bites at Richie's neck lightly.

"People sneeze from their mouth!" He gets shut up when Doug kisses him hard, biting his lip.

"They don't sneeze from their dicks, though."

Richie flips them over so he was leaning over the other. "But they do so much more than just _ sneeze _with their dicks."

Doug grapples around with his hands across Richie's back. "Do you ever stop talking?"

They lean in to kiss one another again. "Nope, never. My friends say it must be some sort of disease." He kisses him again. "It's terminal, I think." He runs his fingers through Doug's hair. "Contagious, too."

"We'll have to use a fucking mouth condom on you or something, then."

The rest of the night goes swimmingly well for Richie. 

However, when he wakes up, the realization starts to hit him: his friends saw him leave with Doug. His first kiss was with another man. His first _ time _ was with another man. He's attracted to this man. He needs to leave _ now. _

He extracts himself as quietly and cautiously as he can from the other man, so as not to wake him, gathers his clothes, and tiptoes out the door.

When his friends ask him to go back to the comedy club a few weeks later, Richie turns them down, saying he thinks he got food poisoning from the food, despite not even eating anything when he was there.

*

Richie does, however, find a different comedy club a twenty minute drive away from his dorm. He writes down different jokes he could perform instead of taking notes in class, having to rely a lot on situations that just did _ not _happen, because Richie, for the life of him, cannot remember ever having childhood friends.

He makes up a story of his childhood friend who got swarmed by seagulls for his ice cream, but made a lot of different bird sounds to scare them off; a story about a friend who broke his arm when he fell down a tree because he jumped off yelling _ "watch this!", _his friend whose bathroom flooded with water when they were messing around and they had to spend the afternoon cleaning it while trying to keep her dad away from the bathroom, and the time they were trying to watch a weird film reel they found only for it to turn into porn.

Sure, the jokes were all fake, but the crowd doesn't care or know. They laugh and clap and people come up to him afterwards and offer to buy him drinks, which Richie accepts. He can tell people flirt with him - men and women - but he turns them all down with no real reasons.

He ends up with poor grades, barely a pass, in his first semester. His professors tell him he was doing really good at the start of the year, _ what happened? _Richie can't tell them that he just doesn't care anymore; that he loves the seedy, dark bars and the crowds that buy him drinks and tells him how funny he is.

_ 1995\. _

Eddie's life, he thinks, is going pretty well. Maybe not fantastic, or great, or even excellent, as some of his dormmates had suggested, but _ pretty well. _ He's getting good grades, passing his classes, and working in his spare time. He's busy, but that means he's out of the house as much as he can be. His mother isn't happy about that, but she wasn't happy about a lot of things these days and, frankly, Eddie isn't in the mood to care.

He misses Matt. He misses something bigger, something he can't put his finger on. One time, at the grocery store he works at, he notices someone with thick-rimmed glasses and brown hair making a joke to his friends. Sure, _ whatever, _Eddie thought. People make jokes to their friends all the time. But his heart ached and he stared at the man like he was bread that he couldn't decide which one to choose. He snapped out of it, went back to work, and tried to forget the encounter.

*

Richie flunks out of college. His grades slipped just one too many times that his professors couldn't help him with and he's out the door, packing his things into a suitcase while his roommate just stares at him.

"That blows," is all his roommate says, before getting up and walking out the door.

It _ did _ blow! Richie yells in his head, angrily shoving a sweater into his suitcase. He had a job but it was part-time and minimum wage. Comedy didn't pay - he'd have to cut back his acts to pay for an apartment or go back to his parents. He hasn't had a real conversation with his parents in years, mainly phoning to tell them how his classes are going _ (bad), _ or how he's been _ (also bad), _and never anything more than what was needed. The last time they spoke they had moved to Augusta, but Richie was against moving across country to move back in with his parents.

He shoves a shirt messily into his suitcase. He has a car, he could find a parking lot and sleep there tonight. He certainly didn't want to deal with security kicking him out of the dorms.

*

All in all, Richie has to say that '95 _ fucking _blows. He finds an apartment with two other roommates and splits the costs as best he can. They've seen a few of his comedy acts and really loved them and they knew about Richie's situation, but that doesn't mean that Richie wanted to be a goddamn charity case. Nonetheless, he's grateful that he doesn't have to sleep in a car anymore.

Most nights he works overnight as a dishwasher at a fairly busy family restaurant. He can't complain, considering he doesn't have to do much aside from stand on his feet and monotonously scrub at pans. Once a month, he goes to a different comedy club with his fake ID and does standup, making a name for himself at the different bars. Despite being _ totally _over it, he never goes back to the first comedy club he went to for fear of running into Doug again.

_ 1996\. _

Richie's starting to gain fans, and he knows this because someone walks up to him when he's in the grocery store and tells Richie that him and his girlfriend loved his act. They shake hands, Richie smiles, and they go their separate ways, but Richie rides that high for a full month.

He writes new material for another act, making jokes about how USC was horrible and filled with uptight rich kids (not that he ever stuck around long enough to meet anyone except for his roommate), and about how he's from Maine and when someone from _ Maine _ tells you you're boring, _ you're boring. _He feels a bit bad writing it down; it's not as if the people he went barhopping with were horrible. He just needs material and his old "childhood memories" shtick isn't cutting it anymore.

His acts get cheers and applause and laughter after every one of his jokes and he's happy. A free spot opens up at his work for an afternoon shift instead of overnight and he jumps on it the first second and winds up fixing his sleep schedule back to "sleeping until noon" instead of "sleeping until five pm."

Richie barely sees his roommates, usually they're at class or out at a club, and when Richie gets home he's usually asleep within minutes. Despite their rare appearances, he doesn't date anyone and doesn't have any one night stands, claiming that his roommates were always home and the walls were very thin. If they invite him back to their place, he claims that he has to work in the morning.

All in all, he's got his excuses pinned down to a T.

*

Eddie focuses on his studies, on his work at the grocery store (not that there's much to focus on, but he tries), and on just passing. He's doing well enough as is, enough to know to not ruin a good thing.

On campus, he's usually in the library. He holds a few conversations with random students during lunch that don't look too busy and ends up never talking to them again. It isn't them, it's just that they weren't his friend. At work, he'll occasionally go with them to a bar after work, or during holidays he'll go with them to a pre-chosen restaurant. He hangs out if they asks, but he never bothers to ask them first or invite them over (and it's not as if his mother would approve of any of them at all, and he definitely doesn't want to get them involved in Sonia Kaspbrak).

He tries to ignore the empty feeling that washes over him at random, inopportune times: in the library trying to study, talking to his mother, or at the ice cream parlor that's a block away from his apartment. He doesn't know the cause, doesn't try to ask anyone about it. He just learns to live with the feelings as he studies and studies and studies.

Matt phones once a week on Friday night since both of them are busy with their studies. He tells him that he's made a lot of friends at UCLA, how Eddie should fly out and meet them. Eddie laughs, telling him maybe in the summer, and Matt finishes the phone call with a quick, "bye, love you" before hanging up.

Eddie stares emptily at the phone receiver, hearing the static on the other end, before finally hanging it up.

"Love you, too, Trashmouth," he mumbles under his breath before walking up to his room in a daze.

The next week, Matt doesn't mention anything about the previous phone call or say anything about misspeaking, so Eddie doesn't mention it either. The two never talk about it again.

_ 1997\. _

Richie's finally, _ actually, _twenty one. He already has a driver's license, so he just starts using his license as his actual ID. No one notices that he switched IDs, or that he got his license years ago, or that his birthdate is different now. They just look at him, wave him in, and he performs his new comedy act. After that's done, he immediately writes down more and more jokes and stories, preparing them all into a neat pile of papers.

At the bar, after his act, a girl moves to sit beside him while he waits for his drink.

"I liked your act," she says, and Richie turns to her. She has brown hair, short and clipped, and a wide-eyed expression that's looking at him way too gently than he thinks he deserves.

"Why, thank you. Do you want an autograph?" he asks as his drink arrives.

"No, not really." She grins at him. "But let me buy you another drink? What are you drinking?"

"Ah, Seven Seven," he responds, taking a slow sip while staring at her.

She was pretty, Richie can say that much, and she had an air of familiarity that made Richie comfortable to sit around and chat with her for an hour or two, slowly sipping his drinks.

"What's your name?" he asks her.

"Amy." Her index finger circles the rim of her own glass. "When did you get into comedy?"

"Around three years ago? I was nineteen and - don't tell anyone this," he says, leaning in closer, "I had a fake ID to get into the comedy clubs."

She laughs, mimes zipping her lips shut. "Your secret is safe with me." She pauses, setting down her glass. "So what do you do aside from comedy? You mentioned you were at USC before."

"I am just a mere dishwasher, actually." He finishes the rest of his drink and sets down the glass. "Someone once told me, 'if you want to make people laugh, tell them you're a dishwasher' and I guess I just misheard them."

He steps off onto the ground and bows, exaggeratingly. "Well, it's been fun, but I must call it a night."

"Wait," she says, stepping to the ground in front of him, "come back to my apartment?"

Richie pauses, looks into her eyes before looking away to the total of three drinks at the bar. He looks back to her and nods once. "Okay. Yeah. Lead the way."

She tugs him by the arm and he gets into her car, his own car left at the parking lot. The ride is tense and quiet and Richie is wondering how all of this happens so fast for him, every time. When they get to her apartment, she unlocks the door and guides him back to her bedroom.

The sex is quick and quiet and Richie doesn't want to ruin it by making a bad joke, despite that being his usual modus operandi. His thoughts run on empty, kissing her neck whenever he feels like saying something out loud.

Afterwards, they clean up and they lie on the bed together, arms barely touching. She's already asleep, and Richie sits up on his elbow and looks down at her: at her short brown hair, the furrow of her eyebrows when she sleeps. He wonders what is is about her that made him go home with her. He doesn't stick around to find out, leaving the apartment and walking all the way back to the bar to grab his car.

*

After a particularly good night on stage, a man walks up to Richie and hands him a business card. The name _ J. Jones - Talent Agent _is printed in a cursive font on it, with a phone number and address underneath.

"You're really funny, kid," he says to him. "How would you like to be on a larger stage?"

"Oh fuck, are you serious?" Richie asks. "Of fucking course I'd like to!"

Jones smiles at him. "Call me later. I'll set you up with some bigger events."

He thinks his luck is finally starting to unravel itself, and when he gets home that night, he writes a whole new set about fake one-night stands; about his time in Maine (which, of course, he doesn't remember but he makes it work); and a long story about how he and his friends used to be really into baseball that they always wore their jerseys and carried their baseball bats everywhere, and that's how they ended up getting blamed for a series of broken mailboxes despite them all being like, ten years old.

Richie thinks it's good. It's better than good: it's great, excellent, magnificent.

*

Eddie is going into his final year of University as a fully legal adult. His coworkers decide to celebrate by taking him to a bar, and he holds his driver's license out excitedly. The bouncer gives him two once-overs before letting him inside, but Eddie doesn't have time to think about his babyface because he's _ finally _an adult.

"Happy birthday!" his coworkers cheer, clinking their beers against Eddie's own, who drinks it, sputters at the taste, then gets laughed at.

"First time drinking?" his coworker asks, one of the people in the same department as himself.

Eddie eyes him over the top of his bottle. "Haven't you heard what underage drinking does to your body and brain?" He takes a sip, makes another face. "Things like hepatitis or high blood pressure or osteoporosis! Did you want me to get those?"

The others roll their eyes at him, well aware of his deal with keeping himself healthy.

"Why didn't you go into medicine if you know so much, _ Doctor Kaspbrak?" _she asks, one of the cashiers who works the same shifts Eddie does.

A wave of uneasiness crashes into him, making him shift in his seat. He hides his discomfort by taking another swig of the beer and trying not to scowl at the taste. The nickname reminds him of something so bittersweet, and he's not sure what.

"Too many germs," he mumbles.

His coworkers make a noise that sounds suspiciously like _ yeah, sounds about right. _

"Speaking of school," Eddie adds, lifting the bottle up with a modest amount of fake cheer, "to my last year of my Bachelor's!"

There's cheers around the table followed by the noise of glasses clinking.

An hour or two later, the others have slowly startled to leave. They wish Eddie more birthday wishes, some _ good luck in your senior year, _and take off. Which left just him and another coworker, Elijah, who would sometimes come in for Eddie's shift change.

"Shit, my ride left," Eddie says. He wasn't drunk, only tipsy, and he did have at least as many waters as he had beers so he wouldn't be hungover in the morning. But he was starting to feel like he couldn't drive even if his car _ was _there (and not that he would, in the first place. He knew the risks of impaired driving and was not willing to even look at his keys when drinking alcohol).

"I can drive you home," Elijah says, standing up. Eddie isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and Elijah did seem pretty capable and focused when he came to driving.

"Wait, did you have anything to drink?" he asks him.

"Just Coke." He gestures to the empty glass with a dark liquid at the bottom of it. Eddie opens his mouth slightly. "And no, that's not rum and Coke." He closes his mouth.

"You know me so well," Eddie says, grabbing his jacket and walking out the door. The two get into Elijah's car and he adjusts the mirrors, fastens his seatbelt, and starts to back up.

Eddie feels sad, empty, and alone most of the time. But right now he feels brave, courageous, and buzzing with the most minimum amount of alcohol one could consume at a bar. "I'd rather go back to your house," he says, trying to make his voice have a flirtatious tone and not sure if he's failing.

Elijah glances at him, to his face then to his legs, before looking back at the road. "Are you sure? I don't mind driving you back home. It's not that far."

Eddie laughs once, not sure whether he's speaking with words meant to be misinterpreted or if Elijah is purposefully giving him an out. "It's not about the distance. I'd rather spend the night with you." As if to emphasize his point, he delicately places his hand down onto the other's knee and drums his fingers against his leg. Knowing the dangers of distracted driving feels like a treat to Eddie now.

He knows he's not being misconstrued now; especially not when Elijah nearly runs the light (thankfully, no other cars were around).

"Back to my house it is." He pauses, not taking his eyes off the road. "Fair warning, my roommates are home."

"We'll be quiet."

They drive back in silence, Eddie's thumb rubbing circles into his knee. It feels like danger, like their lives are connected by his hand on a driver's leg, ready to kill them both at any second in the form of distracted driving. Eddie doesn't care.

At his home, he opens the door as possible and they tiptoe back to his room. Elijah grabs Eddie's hand and drags him to the bed, kissing him and gliding on top of him.

The reality of the situation starts to hit Eddie only when Elijah moves his hand from Eddie's chest down to the zipper of his pants and starting to slide it down.

Eddie freezes, which makes Elijah freeze in turn. Something bubbles up inside him, in between _ want _ and _ lust _ and a faint memory of his mother telling him, "that boy is no good. You can't hang around him, he's filthy and he'll give you _ diseases, _Eddie."

And despite knowing Elijah for two years already, and knowing that his mother was lying about all of his illnesses and pills for years of his life, and barely talking to her nowadays despite living in the same house as her, he can't help but remember everything she's ever told him.

He jumps back from the touch, causing Elijah to give him a strange look.

"I - I can't, I'm sorry." He bites his tongue at adding a comment about sickness or STDs or his mother, God forbid. "I - I - I'd rather just go to sleep." He zips his pants up with one hand deftly and flops on his back.

Eddie ignores the look Elijah is giving him, probably somewhere between confusion and pity and maybe even anger. He thinks it's a bad idea to flirt with his coworker only to back out at the very last moment then insist he still sleep in his bed, but Eddie does it anyway because he's _ himself. _

Elijah doesn't say anything, crawling up to lie down beside Eddie, stretching an arm across his clothed chest.

"Is this another germ thing?" he asks, no pity in his voice, only curiosity.

Eddie nods once, staring up at the ceiling.

"Is this a gay thing?"

Eddie shakes his head, though it turns into a weird nod halfway through.

"Are you gonna talk to me again or are we gonna have to communicate exclusively through hand signals from now on?"

He shakes his head, stops, turns to his coworker. And Eddie, despite the panic and his freakout, laughs. He rolls onto his side to turn face to face to him. Elijah raises an eyebrow at him.

"Do you want to go home, Eddie?"

Eddie shakes his head. "No, let's just… Let's just go to sleep."

"Yeah? You sure?"

"Mhm." He nods his head once and closes his eyes, feeling Elijah move closer to his side, the arm moving from his chest to his back, as his eyes shut heavily.

And the last thing Eddie hears before he falls asleep is _ happy birthday, Eddie. _

*

The event fades from his mind quickly and he and Elijah remain as close friends as coworkers can be. There's a knowing look they give one another as they change shifts, but neither of them comment on it.

On a call from Matt one Friday, after school had started up again, they talk about finishing their degrees. Matt tells him that he still needs to go to law school for another three more years and that he misses Eddie.

"I miss you too, dude," Eddie tells him. It's been a full three years since he's seen Matt in person. The two have exchanged a few letters with pictures of what they're up to over the years, but phone calls were much more frequent.

"You should come do some of your schooling here."

"What do you mean? I've almost got my Bachelor's."

"There has to be more schooling than just your Bachelor's for risk assessment," Matt says. "Like, I have three more years after this if I pass the LSAT."

"Three…"

"You should look it up, Kaspbrak. Don't you miss me at all?"

Eddie laughs into the receiver. "Not at all, dipshit." He hears Matt laugh across states. "I'll look it up, get back to you on that."

In the days that follow, Eddie finds out that he could go for his Master's degree in risk assessment and that UCLA offers just that. The ability to finally get out of his mother's house, and her frequent panic attacks about Eddie staying out late, and just _ everything _is tempting him.

He brings it up to his mother a week after he's researched everything he possibly could and, though he wouldn't bring it up to her, had already talked to advisors at his school about the possibility of transferring his credits at the end of the semester and gotten their approval.

"Absolutely not," she says, the low din of the television playing in the background. She doesn't even look at him. "Don't you know how dangerous it is there? There's earthquakes and hurricanes."

Eddie balls his hands into fists like he's thirteen again and, for reasons he can't remember, getting angry at his mother. Though, with her attitude, it wasn't _ that _hard to imagine why he was mad.

"I want to go. I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions." He pauses, trying to breathe. He wants to reach for his inhaler but that would mean she wins. "I was just telling you because I'll be leaving next year."

She doesn't say anything else, simply watches her television, though Eddie knows she heard him. He storms off back to his room and tries to study because he couldn't falter on his grades now that he told her.

_ 1998\. _

Richie has taken on multiple larger gigs than seedy bars and comedy clubs that make you pay. In fact, he's actually getting paid enough that he can stop taking on so many shifts at his dishwashing job.

It doesn't pay all of the bills, and certainly won't now that one of his roommates left, but he's making enough to put a little into his savings each month. He's still in debt because of his shitty, failed year at USC, but he's paying it down slowly. Maybe not as fast as he wants, but he's certainly trying.

*

Eddie graduates on time with a bachelor's degree in finance and he walks the stage with a smile across his face. He wishes Matt could be here, _ but, _to be fair, he was also missing Matt's graduation at the same time. They will phone one another later and talk for hours about how excited they are.

His mother doesn't show up to the graduation and Eddie doesn't try to remind her the day of. He ignores the swells of pride other families have with their sons and daughters and takes a photo with a few of his classmates that he's close with. A few of his coworkers show up and take him out for drinks at the end of the ceremony, cheering him on as he takes shot after shot and gets rightfully blackout drunk.

*

He employs a few of his coworkers' help with the promise of pizza if they help him pack his things. It's not as if he has a whole lot of stuff and mostly he's just doing it for some company on the last days of his time in New York.

"I can't believe our little Edward is finally growing up," says his coworker, Marie, as she pinches his cheek. Eddie slaps her hand away lightly.

While he's cleaning out his closet, he comes across an old piece of paper, folded up but in surprisingly good condition. Eddie looks around, checking to see if anyone's watching him, as he unfolds the note and reads it. Inside, chicken scratch that he can only imagine is his own handwriting on one side, different handwriting on the other side.

_ movie, my house, tonight at 7 _

_ fuck off _ _  
_ _ if I get detention because of you again _

_ thats not a no eds _

_ no you're right thats a fuck off as in stop fucking passing me notes in class _ _  
_ _ p.s. don't call me that, asshole _

_ your mom liked it when I was passing her notes last night _

_ that doesn't even make any sense _

_Figurative Language_ _  
__Simile - comparison of two things using "like" or "as"_

The rest of the paper continues on with notes on figurative language that Eddie figured he started writing because the teacher was starting to walk by. He's curious who this other person was that he was passing notes to - clearly someone close to him if he's calling him an asshole. But he didn't care about him enough to remember who this mystery friend was, so he tosses the note into the _ trash _ pile.

*

His flight to California is tomorrow and his bags are packed. He's not ready to go, not ready to leave his friends and coworkers behind, but he's excited to see Matt again, and see something different other than skyscrapers and taxis. He had sold his car a few weeks ago and gotten the news that his roommate for his dorm will, in fact, be his friend.

One thing for sure is that he's happy to leave his mother, who had barely spoken to him since graduation. When she had, she had asked things like _ why are you abandoning me? _ or _ you'll let your poor mother live alone in this dangerous city? _as if she wasn't the one who dragged Eddie there in the first place.

But for his last night, he does what he does every year before school starts and trudges up to the rooftop with a pillow underneath his arm, lies down on the concrete, and looks up at the sky.

It's the same as always. It's the thing that's unchanging about New York City, about Eddie's life, about anything, and Eddie is glad about that. Maybe in California he'll be able to see an actual star instead of just the lights of buildings. Maybe he'll see northern lights or constellations or planets. He tries to imagine them, comes up with nothing, and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow awaits a whole new world with an unchanging sky for Eddie.

_ 1998 - University. _

His move in went as smoothly as possible, though how could that be hard for Eddie Kaspbrak? Matt is excited to see him and hugs him so tight he can barely breathe for a solid five minutes.

Classes are fast and not that fun for him, but he makes it work, and he's passing so what more could he ask for. He applies around to a few internships at insurance brokers, trying his best to sell the fact that he does, in fact, have a bachelor's in finance despite only working at a grocery store for the past four years. He manages to get into a small insurance company making minimum wage and works on the weekends. His schedule is filled to the brim and Eddie feels exhausted.

One Friday evening over winter break, Matt drags him to a bar that he says Eddie _ has _to check out at least once in his time in California. Inside, he orders beers for the two of them and Eddie notices that there's a sign on the side beside the stage that announces it's comedy night.

"Ew, dude, you dragged me to comedy night?" he asks, incredulous.

"Hey, how the fuck would I know?" Though Eddie knew he definitely knew because he's been here before.

A speaker comes out onto the stage around nine, when the two of them are on their second beer.

"Now, here's a guy with a dick that won't quit and _ won't _ stop telling you about it, _ Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier!" _

Eddie lets the beer drip out of his mouth onto the table. Matt elbows him in the ribs.

" 'Trashmouth,' huh? You should totally sue for copyright infringement." He takes another sip of his beer. "Or maybe he's gonna sue you."

Eddie ignores him, watching with a newfound intensity for this comedian as he steps out onto stage, thick-rimmed glasses and a stupid name that makes Eddie want to tell him to fuck off immediately.

The man's act is pretty good, though he wouldn't admit that. In between a story about his childhood that Eddie doesn't believe a man with his physique could pull off and a time when he ate moldy cheese on purpose, Richie looks Eddie in the eyes and trails off his sentence for a solid, defined pause.

He continues on like it was nothing and for the rest of the act, he avoids looking at the spot where Eddie is sitting.

However, after the show, Richie hustles off stage, through the cheers and claps of the audience, and walks straight up to Eddie's table.

"Um, hi?" says Eddie, and makes a face when Richie doesn't say anything, only looks to Matt with a face of bewilderment.

Matt looks to Eddie, then back to Richie. "I'll go get some drinks," he says and takes off to the bar before Eddie can stop him. Richie takes the open spot and sits down.

"Do I know you?" Richie asks. "You look familiar."

"I think I'd remember someone with your foul mouth."

"So you were staring at my mouth the whole time, sweetheart?"

Eddie stares at him. "Fuck you," he says, but he makes no move to get away from the conversation.

"That isn't a no." Richie pauses, fiddling with the edge of the table. "What's your name?"

"Eddie."

"Well, Eds-"

"Don't call me that."

"What brings you to this bar?"

"I'm only here because my friend tricked me into coming on comedy night." He sticks his thumb in the direction of the bar and Richie leans over to get a better view of Matt.

"So it wasn't my beautiful mug on those posters around town?" He places his hands up to his cheeks and makes a kissing noise. "I'll have to tell my agent I knew I was too ugly for those."

"You wish I came here for you, Trashmouth."

Richie removes his hands from his face and places them up, palms facing Eddie. "Woah, only my _ fans _call me that." He quirks the corner of his lips upwards. "Unless you happen to be a fan."

"I've never even heard of you before now, how could I be a fan?" Eddie's voice was rising though there isn't any anger in his tone.

Richie makes a noise. "Wha-? Never heard of me before! Does that mean you're from out of town? 'Cause I'm _pretty _fucking famous, I'll have you know."

And that ends up how Eddie accidentally explains his entire life story, starting from New York City, to comedian Richie _ goddamn _Tozier. In turn, he winds up with way more knowledge about Richie, his life, his failures, and his dick than he ever wanted to know. Matt eventually comes back to the table without any drinks and Richie stands up.

"I must go, Eddie Spaghetti," he says, giving a salute to the two of them and taking off.

"Wait!" Eddie calls after him and Richie swivels around on his heel. "You better not fucking use any of that in your act."

Richie smiles wide at him, teeth and gum. "I can't promise anything, sweetcheeks!" he yells, before taking off.

Eddie stands up, ready to leave the bar after a few hours already in there. He was starting to feel hot and sweaty and needed to take a shower, get the smell of cigarettes out of his hair and the taste of cheap beer out of his mouth.

Outside of the bar he walks side by side with his friend.

"He was totally flirting with you, y'know," says Matt.

"What?" His voice pitches at least three octaves higher than usual. "No fucking way, dude."

"He called you 'Eddie Spaghetti' which, if I must add, _ is _pretty hilarious."

"Fuck _ off, _it's not. And that doesn't mean anything at all."

"You guys were talking for a whole hour!"

"I was waiting for you to bring back a drink!"

"You were leaning into him the whole time!" They're almost yelling at one another at this point, raised voices and laughter in each word. "He was giving you bedroom eyes!"

"Okay, maybe!" His voice is almost a squeak at this point, a blush creeping up his cheeks and ears, warming his face despite the weather. "But I wasn't flirting back!"

Matt laughs loudly. "Keep telling yourself that, Eddie Spaghetti."

Eddie can only glare back and wish there was snow so he could chuck a handful at him.

_ 1999\. _

Richie's agent calls him up and asks him to do an actual cross-country tour. Of course he agrees in a heartbeat and Jones says he'll phone back in a day with more information.

He's so excited and so far ahead of himself that he starts to pull out his suitcase and pack a bag. He doesn't even know when the tour is - it could be months away - but he's excited and in high spirits, so he starts digging through his closet.

Inside, he comes across an old backpack that was shoved in the bottom recesses of the floor, buried under clothing he never wore and old notes from university he never threw away.

The backpack is old and tiny, fit for no one with a stature like himself. He holds it at arm's length and unzips it carefully, as if it were going to explode or filled with old, rotting food.

Nothing happens immediately, so Richie flips the back and dumps its contents onto the ground in the middle of the room. Papers fall out of it, scattering across his feet.

He grumbles, picks them up, shuffles them into a pile, and takes a look through all of them. The first one was a piece of paper, handwritten lines that formed a mock page title.

_BILL D._ _  
_ _THE GHOST_

"Who the hell is this?" Richie asks himself, moving to sit down on the bed as he switches to the next paper.

_ my mom says we shouldn't hang out anymore _

_Alliteration - the repetition of the initial consonant sound_

_ can you stop writing your fucking notes on this _

_ the teacher keeps walking by, asshole _ _  
_ _ do you want her to make me read it out aloud again? _

He figures this must have been someone he was passing notes back and forth with and almost got caught. Sounds like something he'd do. Too bad he can't remember the kid to save his life. Instead of trying, he reads the next paper, a small piece of notepad paper torn in half.

_ ke _ _  
_ _ -4800 _

Richie thinks this must have been a phone number and a name, but he can't remember anyone he knew whose name ended with _ ke. _

"Oh well," he mutters, and flicks to the last paper, a torn out piece of notebook paper.

He finds it to be the fucking work of an insane person (or just his younger self), with sloppy writing and random names. The paper looked like it had been balled up multiple times over the years and then crushed with a steamroller, because it was barely readable.

_ clown _  
_ bird _  
_ fucked his mother _  
_ new kid _  
_ leader _  
_ taught me how _ _  
_ farmer, home school, told me

He stares at the paper, reads it over and over trying to decode some hidden meaning, before crumpling it back into a ball.

"Must be some fucking poem or some shit," he says to himself, getting up to toss the papers in the trash.

*

Eddie's master's degree is going swimmingly, if he does say so himself (which he does). He's enjoying university life in California much more than in New York, which he attributes to not having to see his mother at all.

He phones her once a week, the usual time he would have been talking with Matt, and the conversations are always brisk. When she starts demanding that Eddie drop out and come back, that's when he knows it's time to hang up.

His internship at the insurance broker is stressful, considering he needs the references for the future. But he tries his best and puts forth the best efforts and is liked by everyone at the company.

He tries a few dates with random women, usually Matt's current dates that could he could double date with, but he never phones any of them back for a second date. They were lovely, just not Eddie's type (not that he was sure what his type was, anyway).

Matt doesn't say anything about the non-existent second dates, though Eddie tells himself it's because he's too busy with everything else to hold a relationship.

*

Eddie decides to celebrate his last few hours in the twentieth century alone in his room, having had to go home for holiday break because he had nowhere else to go_ . _ He knows it's sad, and Matt had even told him a few times it's _ really _sad over the phone, but he didn't feel like going out, even if that meant having to put up with his mother.

He could have gone to Times Square for the party, but he figured it would be way too crowded and too many bodies for his liking and not to mention they were right in the peak of flu season. If there was a time Eddie was for sure going to get sick, _ that _was when.

He bought himself a bottle of white wine because he wanted to be reasonably drunk, but not full on blacked out. Four glasses of wine later, he remembers that he only really ever drank beers and rarely at that. So he's drunk and his mother is snoring loudly in her living room chair.

He does the only sensible thing a drunk person should do, and that's head to the roof of his apartment with a pillow tucked under his arm like old times and the bottle in the other. He takes the stairs as safely as he can, trying not to slosh the alcohol out because he forgot the stupid cap, and when he makes it to the top he takes a long sip as he sits down on the cold concrete.

The sky is boring. The moon is out but it just stares solemnly back at Eddie as he takes a swig from the bottle. He forgot to bring a jacket but the alcohol is keeping him warm and Eddie _ knows _that's a symptom of hypothermia but the wine is numbing him and making him uncaring.

He didn't know that he was so close to the countdown until he hears the loud cheers from down on the ground and from open windows. He takes another swig of the wine, raises it high above his head, and toasts to the non-existent stars.

*

Richie is getting plastered. His tour is scheduled to start in the early weeks of January and Richie is nervous. What if he is only popular for his comedy about California, about USC? What if it falls short with a different state? He tries not to think about any of that because it's New Years Eve and he _ should _ be with his friends, but he's not too sure he could name a single friend he has aside from his roommate, who was more just a _ roommate. _

He downs two more drinks in quick succession and stumbles out into the cold breeze of December air.

Outside, he lies down on a bench and tries to focus beyond the wall of alcohol at the sky. All he can see is the blur of the night sky mixed with the light from Los Angeles and he tries not to feel disappointment for stars he's never seen before in his life.

Richie, out of nowhere, remembers that man he met over a year ago with the wide eyes, who wasn't afraid to tell Richie to fuck off. He wonders where he is now? Is he still in California? No, he had told Richie that he was from New York and lives in the dorm so he would probably back celebrating right now. He hopes the man is having a better New Years Eve than he is.

He can hear the patrons inside the bar countdown from ten so he shuts his eyes, opening them when he hears the _ one _and the loud cheering. In the desperate moments right after the countdown, he wonders if Eddie is watching the same sky he is now. The stars and the moon hangs above him, threatening to fall at any moment.


	3. 2000 - 2006

_ 2000. _

Eddie's final semester at UCLA goes well. He passes, maybe not with flying colors, but he passes. He's got a job landed back in New York at a major insurance broker and the people he worked with at his internship were sad to see him go. He left with promises that he'll do absolutely fine at a large insurance firm.

He phones his mother every Friday night leading up to his graduation, though her answers remain short and uncouth.

"I'm coming back to live in New York, mom," he tells her and hears her make a noise.

"You should have done that years ago," is all she says.

Eddie hangs up on her.

Near the end of the semester, he and Matt pack their respective bags in silence. It's in between folding an old sweater (one that he can't bring himself to get rid of) and tossing it ungratefully in to a bag does Eddie finally break the silence.

"I'll phone you everyday," he says, turning to Matt, who's smiling at him.

"You fucking better, Eddie Spaghetti."

"Fucking  _ really?  _ After that guy said it once, like, two years ago?"

"It was funny!"

"Leave the comedy to the comedians, dude."

"Oh, so now you're ready to admit you thought he was funny?"

Eddie turns back around to his suitcase, pretending to be huff and be angry. His things were almost all packed aside from the few books that remained on his bookshelf. He picks up one he hadn't ever read despite bringing it from New York and definitely owning it way before he can remember.

When he opens the book, a small bookmark flutters out of it onto the ground. Eddie picks it up and inspects it. He senses Matt behind him, looking at the bookmark as well.

"Aw, that's so cute. Did you just make that in finger painting class?" Matt asks him and Eddie elbows him in the ribs.

The bookmark  _ wasn't  _ cute; it was strange. It was colored purple with pencil crayon, the letters  _ 'R + E'  _ in block letters down it with  _ 1989 _ below that.

"Are you the  _ 'E'  _ in this situation?" Matt asks. "Didn't know you were such a womanizer when you were a kid."

Eddie only stares at the letters, trying to remember anything he can remember about 1989: George Bush became president, the Game Boy came out, the Simpsons released its first episode.

But Eddie can't remember anything about where  _ he  _ was. Did he own a Game Boy? Did his mom let him watch the television show when it first came out? He can't remember.

"Who's the  _ 'R',  _ then?" asks Matt, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts. "Rebecca? Rachel? Rose?" He pauses, a look on his face that Eddie thinks of as  _ the bastard look.  _ "Richie?"

"Who?!" Eddie sputters. "Wait - the fucking…  _ Trashmouth?" _

Matt shrugs, bastard look still plastered on. "Never know."

"I  _ do _ know. If I knew I had to be friends with that asshole when I was thirteen, I would have left to New York a  _ long  _ time before that." Eddie shoves the bookmark unceremoniously back into the book and tosses the whole thing at his suitcase. "I have to pack. Stop bothering me."

He shoves the rest of the books hastily into his suitcase, the fear of something else from his past coming back to haunt him.

*

Eddie knew it was coming, but despite the warning signs and living with her for most of his life, his mother is insufferable. She goes on about Eddie's medicine, even though he hasn't taken any of them in years; about going out late at night (despite it getting dark at eight o'clock); and about the dangers of over-straining himself with his asthma.

He can't take it anymore and he moves out as soon as he gets approved for an apartment, only telling her the day before he's planned to move in. Most of his things were still in boxes from when he packed to go to California years ago, and for the other part he was living out of his suitcase. She isn't happy, doesn't even answer his calls when he phones, but Eddie is free.

He buys himself a laptop, phones up his old coworkers and tells them he's back in town, and asks if anyone wants to be his roommate. Everyone says their congratulations about making it big but they all turn him down. It's not as if he had talked to any of them in the two years he was in California.

On one of his weekly trips to the grocery store, he meets a woman in a grocery store while in the soup section. She introduces herself as Kelly and talks to him about how she thinks they change the soup recipes everywhere so you keep buying them, thinking you'll find that perfect soup once again. He likes the way she acts so serious about it, like it's a giant conspiracy that only her (and now Eddie) knows about.

He asks her out on a date right there in that grocery store and the two exchange contact information. He doesn't think much about her again until a day later he finds the note in his back pocket with her name and phone number. He phones her, sets up a date, and wills himself to not back out of it.

*

Richie's tours across the country are going great. He's having fun, making the audience belly laugh, signing autographs after the shows. They're heading in a line from west coast to east coast, stopping in at the major cities, headlining with a comedian who's been in the business for a few years longer than Richie has.

They have fun on the road despite the constant traveling and barely having time to rest. He buys a stupid tourist keychain from every city they hit, making a game of trying to get all of them onto his keyring and still fit it in his pocket.

*

A few months into dating Kelly, her presence rare in his apartment, he pulls out two tickets to a comedy show that night.

"New Kids on the Road: Dillweed & Trashmouth," she reads outloud. "Who are these guys?"

"I met Richie - that's Trashmouth - when I lived back in California," he answers. "Don't know who the other guy is."

"Was he funny?"

"No."

She laughs, though there's part of a serious expression crossing her face. "Why did you buy tickets then?"

Eddie pauses, grief stricken and confused himself. "Maybe his act is better now."

*

The two get ready and sit down in their spots. Eddie had managed to nab front row seats, close enough to see Richie's stupid, sweaty face all over again. Maybe even heckle him silently if they make eye contact.

The lights go down and Dillweed's act is first. He jokes about his failed relationships, about how he married his mother, about how afterwards he married his father, and finally closing his act with a self-deprecating joke. All in all, Eddie doesn't find him horrible.

Richie gets called onto stage a few minutes after him, holding his hand up in a wave as the lights shine down onto him.

"How's New York City doing tonight?" he asks and the crowd cheers.

Eddie can see his face, those stupid glasses with tape in the middle of them, and how he looks different. Not bad, he thinks, just different. Older, definitely, and maybe a bit more fatter. Eddie thinks it makes him look like an actual adult, compared to the man he saw years ago. He reaches across the armrest and entangles his fingers with Kelly's.

"This the guy you remember from California?" she asks, leaning over to whisper in his ear. Eddie turns his face to her ear to respond.

They're so close to the stage that Richie immediately looks down.

"Hey, this is a singles only act," he says, and Eddie whips his head at him, having been called out in front of hundreds of people. "Who let you two in?"

They stare at one another as Eddie refuses to dignify his behavior with a response. He hears the crowd laughing behind him.

"Feisty, huh?" He crouches down to try and look at Eddie closer. "What's your name?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, funnyman?" he shoots back. The audience chuckles behind him.

Richie raises his hands in defense. "Woah, hey now." Eddie looks back at him, stares into his eyes, and Richie stares back for another moment. His eyes search amongst Eddie's for a desperately long time before he grips his gaze away and stands back up. He's bathed in darkness; maybe Richie couldn't tell it's Eddie under the heavy years of sleep deprivation and aging.

He segues back into his main act: a story about how his old university he flunked out of still sends him donation letters. For the rest of the act, Eddie can see Richie making eye contact and lingering longer than he does on anyone else.

At the end of the act, he gets a standing ovation, and even Eddie can't help but stand up and cheer. Amidst the cheers ringing around in his head, there's a heartache he feels despite standing arm to arm with Kelly.

*

Richie stumbles out of the backstage and out through an exit door, yelling at a few fans around the exit that he'll  _ be right back!  _ before running as fast as he can to the entrance of the theater. Something flickers in his mind; a familiarity, a moment of nostalgia, that Richie has to chase.

But the couple is gone - he can't find them. He has to wonder whether it was his fault, since he was calling him out of the audience so early on in his show. Did he embarrass the poor guy? He didn't mean to - that's just what his show was about.

He walks back to the back of the theater, trying to push down the feeling of loss that felt so familiar to Richie.

*

Eddie and Kelly break up. Well, she breaks up with him. She cites the reasons and, Eddie admits only to himself, that those reasons  _ were  _ pretty solid: he barely talks to her, he never touches her, he's too focused on his work.

He doesn't care, doesn't think much about the fact that he'll never see her again. That just means he has more time to focus on himself and not have to plan things for two people. He has more time for himself, alone, in his apartment.

_ 2001. _

Richie gets invited on an actual talk show. Not just an interviewer for some magazine he'll never read, but an actual  _ television  _ talk show. His agent helps him put together proper clothes and tells Richie what to expect. He even suggests he write some new material because they will probably ask.

On the day of the show, he gets greeted warmly with a handshake and the host begins diving right into the questions.

"So, where did the name 'Trashmouth' even come from? Don't tell me you actually ate trash as a kid," his host says.

Richie places his hands in his lap. "See, the name just sort of came back to me. My friends used to use it as a nickname back in college because I would  _ constantly  _ be talking about wanting to - well - have sex with their mothers."

That earns a laugh from the audience and the host.

"So you should be paying some royalties to your friends then?"

"Only if they pay me for all those free jokes they got to hear first!"

The rest of the show are normal questions: what does he do in his free time when he's not touring (writing, practicing, and definitely something he can't say on TV), about what got him into comedy, and what he did before comedy was his full-time job.

"Someone that went to your show when you were in New York said that you called out some guy in the front row of your show?"

"Yeah, like, he didn't do anything wrong but he  _ seemed _ like a total jerk."

The host laughs alongside the audience. "A total jerk that bought front row tickets to your show."

Richie laughs. "I only imagine if we met he  _ would  _ be a total dick to me." He tries to imagine some made up voice for the man. "Something like," he starts, then raises his voice a few octaves,  _ " 'Real  _ funny, asshole. Why don't you try telling your jokes to the middle schoolers you learned them from?' " He lowers his voice down again. "But the joke's on him because I saw him applauding my act."

The host laughs gratuitously and Richie chuckles alongside him. Finally, for their last question, he leans his arm on the desk, head propped up by his fist.

"Are you seeing anyone right now?"

Richie freezes, a vague thought resembling something like,  _ I'd  _ like  _ to be seeing Eddie again.  _ He can't say that because he's only met Eddie once in his life years ago and doesn't want to seem like some lovesick eighteenth century wife whose husband died from scurvy.

"Are you asking me out?" he asks instead and the host laughs. "Well, sorry, but I totally have a girlfriend. She's in Canada right now. Really, really sad she couldn't make it out to this interview." He tries to drip his words with sarcasm as best as he can.

The host laughs, the audience laughs, and Richie laughs. The interview ends and Richie goes back to his apartment, alone.

*

Eddie tries to go on blind dates but he doesn't feel anything with any of them and thus phones no one back a second time. His phone calls with Matt have dwindled down to talking once a month - if that - since he was busy with his final year of law school and internships and trying to find an apartment. Eddie feels the loss after every phone call, wonders whether that's it - was that the last conversation he'll have with Matt?

In between dates and work, he watches Richie's interview. He doesn't do it on purpose - simply having changed the channel and winded up having to stare at Richie's mug yet again.

He talks about Eddie. He brings up  _ Eddie.  _ He's  _ talking  _ about  _ Eddie.  _ And Eddie knows Richie's talking about him because who the hell else would he heckle in New York in the front row? At least, Eddie likes to imagine Richie's talking about him, even if his impression of him isn't accurate at all and Richie didn't see him in that dark room when the spotlights were blaring into his eyes.

Before the interview ends, Richie talks about  _ totally  _ having a girlfriend in Canada. The joke has enough plausible deniability that he could imagine joking about not having a girlfriend. Eddie shuts off the television, looks at the blank screen, and tries not to feel disappointed.

_ 2002. _

Richie is invited to guest write on an episode of a sitcom currently airing:  _ Cousins,  _ which was a show about three cousins living in a house together. Not much to go on for Richie's tastes and he's never even seen a single episode, so on the days leading up to his start date, he binge watches every single episode in a box set his agent bought for him. He finds it horrible, but a job's a job.

The writer's room has a lot of no-names on board, no one he could pick out of a crowd even if wanted to, but this is a big step up for him. It was a start in a new career direction, more fame, and more fortune.

*

He has drinks with an old coworker from his restaurant days, Riley, and they walk back to her apartment and - quite literally - sleep together. A few days later he finds himself on the cover of a tabloid magazine. He's just trying to buy groceries, for fuck's sake. He didn't expect to have to deal with the consequences of walking home with someone.

On the other hand, Richie was giddy, because does  _ this  _ means he is finally notably famous? He grabs the magazine off the rack and buys it alongside his frozen waffles.

The next time he meets with Riley she asks him if he's seen the news.

"What? That we're apparently dating?" Richie asks, sitting in her apartment with his feet on the coffee table. "Yeah, I bought the magazine too. The cashier must've noticed because he gave me a funny look."

"Do you want to?" she asks him, moving to sit down next to him. "I figured, we're already on tabloid covers. Don't have to go on an interview and announce it then."

Richie pauses for a moment. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

That night, the two help make those tabloid writer's dreams into a reality.

*

Eddie's reminded that he's painfully single by a tabloid article with _ Trashmouth  _ of all people on the front cover, walking side by side with a woman. The headline shoots out in red along the side:  _ Richie Tozier Seen On Date With Coworker?  _ He flips through it to the article, sees the few photos taken where they were standing a foot apart, and doesn't read any of it.

He needs to get back in the dating game, he thinks. He's young - why shouldn't he? What's holding him back from going on another blind date? Then he remembers that he has a report due at work in two days, and that his bathroom hasn't been cleaned this week, and that there's a special Christmas episode of his favorite television show coming on this weekend, so maybe he doesn't have the time.

_ 2003. _

In between touring around California to perform at more and more events, Richie gets invited to write a few more episodes on  _ Cousins,  _ even being offered to guest write on the forty minute season finale. He's enjoying the work because it keeps him busy, out of his own head. Which is definitely where he wants to be the least.

One of his standup routines is going to get a DVD released, filmed right there in sunny Los Angeles. He had put his best jokes together for this tour, including the old ones from years ago about friends he didn't remember. The places he tours at are actual theaters with balconies and a lighting system and a lighting guy he annoys to no end.

But with writing or being on the road, he and Riley barely speak to one another. He phones from San Diego, Fresno, San Francisco, Anaheim, Sacramento, and tells her what it's like. She responds with,  _ I know, I've been there before  _ and the conversation dies off within minutes. The two barely see one another, only the occasional quick fuck before one of them leaves for work.

A few weeks later he gets scheduled on another interview to talk about the upcoming DVD release.

"What do you talk about in this one?" the interviewer asks.

"Oh - everything." He starts listing things off with his fingers held up. "School, USC, weird friends. Hell, maybe I even mentioned you in this one."

"I'm flattered, honestly."

*

Eddie meets a woman who laughs at his shitty jokes. Her name is Emily - Em, for short - and has brown hair and brown eyes that remind Eddie of Matt, whom his conversations with had died off a couple years ago. Being around Em the first time makes him miss his old friend and a few times he considers picking up the phone and calling him, but something stops him before he dials the full number each time.

She introduces him to her friends and they all get along well, exchanging stories about their past as Eddie deftly avoids bringing up that he can't remember anything before moving to New York the first time.

They go on dates, sometimes at her apartment or Eddie's, and they kiss, and they have sex. Eddie's inexperienced but she doesn't care because she likes him and Eddie likes her as well. She brings about a different light to his apartment that had previously never been seen before.

Out of the blue, around the sixth month mark of their relationship (the longest Eddie's ever dated someone), Em comes up to him with a present.

"What's this for?" he asks, looking at the DVD, though he already knows. He takes one look at the face on the cover and knows immediately.

"You mentioned that you went to a few of his shows, and he just released this, so…" She gestures with one hand to it.

"Thank you, Em," he says, leaning in and kissing her cheek. He looks back down at Richie's face. "I love it."

_ 2004. _

On a Saturday, he and Em go shopping around the busy shops in New York to find some new clothes. All of his were from when he lived back in California - a bachelor living in a dorm room - and were starting to show wear.

They walk into a high-end fashion store, one that Eddie would never consider buying from even though he had the money to splurge, and the two look around at the clothes hanging on the walls.

It's extraordinary fashion: bell-sleeved tops that hung off shoulders, ruffled skirts, crop tops, and orange dresses. On the men's side, he spots distressed jeans and salmon-colored short-sleeved button ups. Emily fits in like it's nothing, always keeping up to date with the trends, but Eddie looks like Emily just brought him in off the street.  _ So what?!  _ he thinks to people who give him a weird look. It was his day off! To hell with wearing suits on his day off!

He looks at the tag to find the price on a mint colored button up (and gasps  _ very  _ loudly causing Em raises an eyebrow at him), but beside that, the logo stands out to him:  _ Designed by Beverly Marsh. _

He reads the tag again, freezing in place. Something moves in him automatically, his hands and eyes coordinating to find his size and buying it, price be damned.

*

Richie and Riley bounce ideas off one another for the show they're writing for; character arcs and plot lines. Oftentimes, Richie asks for advice on bits and stories for his show, writing down critiques and suggestions in the margins.

They work as a team together and they're dating and they're fucking on the side. What more could Richie ask for?

Although, one day, when she asks him if he wants to move in with her, he thinks of the worst excuses he possibly could tell her: I take two hours in the shower, I'm scared of open-concept designs, my roommate might die without me. All of his excuses Riley counters easily: you don't look like you take showers at all, my apartment is  _ not  _ open-concept; your roommate moved out years ago.

However, she doesn't bring it up again and Richie is more than glad. He just doesn't like change.

*

Eddie and Emily get into a lot of arguments, starting one day when his mother had phoned and he had answered. He kept his calm then hung up, sighing. 

"I thought she was dead!" she says, her voice a hushed anger.

"I never said that." He raises his hands up defensively. "I don't talk to her."

"Then why did she just phone?"

"I don't know! I haven't talked to her in years!"

"You didn't tell me that! You don't tell me anything!" She crosses her arms and sighs when Eddie doesn't know how to respond. "I'm going home."

Eddie watches her leave, knows about the risks associated with driving angry, and decides against saying anything.

The next argument is when they're sitting on a couch together, feet planted on the floor, Eddie's arm around her neck, the other in a bowl of popcorn.

"Why don't you ever initiate sex?" she asks, causing him to nearly choke. He moves his arm from her neck and places the popcorn bowl onto the table in front of them.

He turns to look at her and places his hands on her shoulders, leaning in to try and kiss her.

She bats his hands away and slides backwards on the couch. "That doesn't answer the question."

"I'm - I'm initiating it now!" he says, putting his hands back down onto his lap. She frowns at him. "Look, I'm sorry. I've been busy at work." He doesn't even believe the excuse himself.

"For months you've been busy at work?"

"Months?" He pauses. Has it been that long? Have they been dating for months already? "I'm always busy at work."

He can sense her looking at him but he doesn't look up from his lap. She sighs and they watch the rest of the movie in silence, a foot away from one another on the couch.

_ 2005. _

Eddie breaks up with her before she can break up with him. He tells her he wants to focus on his career, on himself, and she only nods and hugs him before leaving. It leaves him alone again with just himself and his apartment and his non-existent friends.

His breakup reminds him of Matt, a hug before they left and a promise that was supposed to last longer than it did. He picks up the phone. Even years later he remembers his phone number from heart and punches it in to the phone, lets it ring and ring and ring before it hits voicemail.

"This is Josh. Leave a message," the voicemail says, and Eddie pauses, sputters a  _ sorrywrongnumber  _ into the phone, and hangs up quickly.

His number has changed - Eddie should have predicted that. It's been years and they lived in a dorm and Matt's been out of school for four years already so Eddie should have known that his phone number wasn't going to be the same.

He sits down on the ground on the cold tiles of his apartment and buries his head in his knees.

*

He finds out that Richie's touring again when he spies the ads with that telltale face on his commute to work one day. He scowls and glares at it and probably scares the driver of the car next to him, but he doesn't care.

After work, he drives down to the theater and buys a ticket for the only night Richie's show is on, a week away on Thursday. He waits anxiously, tries to not get distracted at work, and books it out the door on Thursday way too early. He winds up sitting in the theater chair an hour before the show's expected to start with nothing to do.

He chats with the old woman who sits down next to him and her husband, giving the story about how he first met Richie Tozier years ago in a bar. The woman smiles, says that's exactly how she met her husband, and Eddie smiles back with a confused look in his brow.

The routine isn't new - stuff from old acts just melded together, relying heavily on his act from California that barely anyone knew about. This time Richie doesn't notice him sitting in the crowd and Eddie isn't about to call attention to himself.

Sometime near the end of the show, Richie brings up a story about how last time he was touring in New York, he was single and depressed. Now that he's back, he's just depressed. He wishes them all a good night and takes off into the backstage.

Eddie is quickly out of his seat, rushes past the rows of slower patrons, and jogs out into the back alley where he figured Richie might be leaving from. Within a few minutes, a few others start to crowd around as well, waiting anxiously for the Trashmouth to appear.

During his wait, he thinks about Richie no longer being single. It's a fact he knew from that tabloid, though he's more surprised that his relationship has lasted this long. Or maybe Eddie is just surprised to hear it straight from the source itself.

He finally appears around twenty minutes later, walking out with a wave and a tired looking smile. Eddie stays at the back, waiting for the others to have their autographs and leave. He knows he looks like a mad fan standing here like this, but he wants to talk to Richie again alone.

He hears footsteps walking up to him. "You want an autograph?" Richie asks, tiredly.

Eddie looks up, peers into his eyes, and Richie seems to flash some recognition in his eyes before it fades quickly. Eddie frowns.

"No, um," he says and Richie gives him the worst look he's ever seen from the man. He hadn't even gotten a look like this when he told him his act sucked and that he didn't laugh, "you don't remember me?"

Richie squints his eyes. "No, sorry." He sighs. "I'm sorry, but if you don't want an autograph I really have to go. I have to be on the road again in less than six hours."

Eddie shakes his head, waves a hand to dismiss Richie, and watches him walk away. He can only stare at the back of Richie's head as he opens the door and leaves him, empty feeling washing over him once again.

_ 2006. _

Richie's back in California with Riley and he's glad. The show they were writing for ended and that means Richie can focus on comedy full-time without it physically draining him. He writes more stories and skits, tries to incorporate more visual comedy into his act and asks Riley for feedback, who gives him a gladiatorial thumbs up or thumbs down.

The two are driving around Los Angeles looking for a nice restaurant to eat at for dinner when he accidentally turns into a residential area. He pulls into a driveway of a show home to turn around when he spots a sign with the words  _ Buildings by Ben Hanscom  _ scrawled across it.

The name makes him freeze, wondering why this house is so different than all the other ones around it, despite being cookie-cutter houses?

"Why don't we check this one out?" Richie suggests, parking the car.

"What?"

"Yeah, like, a house." He gestures to show that it is, in fact, a house. "We could move in together."

"Is this a joke? Are you doing a bit?" she asks, mouth agape.

"No! Why would this be a bit? I'm serious!"

"Well, I mean, you didn't want to move in before when I asked. And you always make sure I take  _ everything  _ I brought over whenever I happen to leave it at yours." She counts out the issues on her fingers.

"That was before! I'm serious now!" He breathes in, breathes out. "And sorry if I want to make sure you don't need the things you leave at my house!"

"It was a  _ toothbrush,  _ Richie. And a comb!"

"It might've been an heirloom!"

"Drop me off at home," she says, crossing her arms. "I'm serious. I'm done."

"What?"

"We're done. You are ridiculous." She glares ahead at the house in front of them. "You're impulsive and you aren't serious about us. We've been together for  _ four years  _ and the first time you suggest we do something with our lives together it's to buy a fucking house?"

"Sorry if I finally thought about our futures," he spits out.

"It's  _ your  _ future," she turns to look at him, "and your career. You're  _ thirty  _ now, Richie, and you don't even consider anyone else. It's always been about you."

He doesn't say anything as he pulls out of the driveway and starts the drive back to her apartment. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he has a feeling he's disappointing someone by driving angrily.

*

Eddie has been going on a few dates with Myra, a woman with brown hair and blue eyes and talks about how she doesn't want to get sick so she washes all of her produce with soap and hot water.

They go on dates, they talk about the world and the filth and the diseases. Eddie finds himself getting along with her way more than he'd expect. After date number three, Eddie pops and the question and asks if they want to be girlfriend and boyfriend. Myra says yes quickly, much to his surprise.

She doesn't ask much of him, just that he takes some vitamins in the morning (and it  _ was  _ important to have good nutrition, Eddie always did say). She fixes his hair before dates, straightens his tie, and despite having sex rarely, they don't talk about it.

They've started to stick to a schedule a few months into being in a relationship: Mondays and Wednesdays they went to one of their apartments after work, Friday they had a date out, and on Saturday they spent the whole day together. Eddie likes the schedules and his week planned out for him. He likes that Myra doesn't care that he cleans his bathroom while she's there on his scheduled Saturday or that he doesn't talk about his mother.

The two learn to exist around and with one another, their own worlds colliding together that Eddie figures will work out perfectly for him.


	4. 2006 - 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's parental death in this chapter, so if you want to skip that, it starts after:  
"Eddie nods his head once before leaving, speeding down the road to the hospital."  
and you can skip to: "Richie is confronted by Olivia,"

_ 2007\. _

Richie decides to put his stand up on back burner for awhile when he gets invited to be the main writer on a new comedy sitcom coming out, _ American Divorcees. _ He's starting to get tired of constantly traveling anyway and loves the idea of having a set schedule and days free where he can lie on a bed - _ his _bed - and sleep the day away.

The job starts in a month and with the free time he has, he scratches down a minimal amount of new stand up material onto a paper towel.

*

Eddie has been dating Myra for almost a year, which isn't even the longest time he's been in a relationship, but he asks her to move in anyway. The scheduled dates were fun, but he figures they want to see one another more anyway.

He asks over dinner at his apartment, where her stuff had already been left and stored in specific spots: her medicine, his medicine, their vitamins in the medicine cabinet; a few of her sweaters in his closet; a toothbrush in the holder in his bathroom.

"Myra, we've been dating for almost a year already," he says to her, instantly wanting to reword that, "so, do you want to move in with me?"

Myra's eyes widen and she smiles. "Yes! Eds, yes!" She holds him out at arm's length. "You need someone to look after you. What if you fall down the stairs and can't phone for help?" She pauses, lets go of his arms. "Speaking of, we should get you a cellphone."

It isn't the first time Myra has called him Eds. He had tried to express his distaste at the nickname many times, but she thought it was cute, just like him. She leans over to hug him tightly, pecking him on the lips.

"You can help me bring over my stuff tomorrow," she suggests. Eddie wouldn't give this for anything else in the world.

*

The two of them go on their weekly date to a movie - _ The Ghost - _a week after they had moved Myra's belongings into his apartment and settled quickly. The movie was directed by a director Eddie's never heard of before, apparently based on a book that Eddie has never read in his life.

He thinks the movie is good up until the end, when the main character dies out of the blue in a heroic and tragic way. Eddie makes a face at the screen and watches the credits roll. Stuck out like a sore thumb, a name that Eddie feels like he's seen before: _ Based on the book by Bill Denbrough. _

"What was that?" Myra asks, referring to the movie. "That was awful."

Eddie thought that he quite liked it, up until the end, but he didn't want to tell Myra that, so he nods and makes a noise in agreement.

Where had he heard the name before? He tries to think as Myra takes his hand and drags him out of the theater back to the parking lot. Getting into the car silently, he figures he must have heard it in passing since the man _ is _getting movie deals. He makes a mental note to check out the name when he gets home.

"Don't tell me you liked that crap," she says.

"I thought it was all right." He stares ahead at the road. "The ending was pretty awful."

"The whole thing was awful."

Eddie doesn't say anything else the rest of the drive back to their apartment.

And at home, he flips open his old, slow laptop and searches for the name: _ Bill Denbrough. _He comes across pages and pages of search results and Eddie wonders why he has never heard of this man before now, considering he publishes a book just about once a year. He clicks on the Wikipedia page and reads through his biography.

_ William "Bill" Denbrough (born January 4, 1976) is an American author of horror. His books have sold more than 100 million copies worldwide. _

** _Life and career_ ** ** _  
_ ** _ Denbrough moved to Phoenix, Arizona in 1991. When Denbrough was 21, his father, Zack Denbrough, passed away. _

_ His first novel, The Ghost, was published shortly after his father's death in 1998. In 1999, his second novel, The Tower, was published, a second part of a series later titled 'Hauntings.' _

Eddie scrolls down Bill's published works and finds way more than he was expecting. Skimming through the list, he decides he should pick up 'Nostalgia,' a fairly older work of his, just to see he'd like this author.

He clicks back to the original page and scrolls through Bill's photos. His face pricks at some part of Eddie's mind and his palm starts to ache (probably from punching numbers into a computer all day, Eddie assumes) so he rubs it idly.

The next photo is of Bill and whom Eddie assumes is his wife, an arm slung around her waist. As he scrolls through, Eddie notices there aren't many photos of Bill as a child, mostly just headshots from his later years.

He decides that Bill's life isn't too exciting to keep scrolling through, so he closes the page and shuts his laptop. He makes a mental note to pick up one of his books, and maybe ask his coworkers if they've heard about this prolific author that apparently only Eddie had never heard of.

_ 2008\. _

Eddie's making supper for the two of them, something he likes to do if he has time. He's waiting for the lasagna to be done in the oven while Myra watches television in the living room. The oven beeps, he pulls it out carefully, setting the pan on the stove top.

"Myra, dinner," he says, slicing the lasagna and setting two plates down at the table. He pours two glasses of red wine (Myra's favorite) and sits down.

He hears the television click off and Myra walking into the kitchen, sitting down at her spot.

She points at the glass of wine first. "You know, you shouldn't be drinking this with your medication."

Eddie makes a face. "It's not like I do it a whole lot."

"You drank a glass last week," she points out.

"Once a week won't kill me."

She pretends not to hear him or Eddie thinks she's wondering how she can ban him from drinking wine once a week. Instead, she picks up her own glass and swirls it around, looking at the liquid slosh around.

Eddie wonders what she's doing, piqued curiosity, as he takes a bite of the lasagna.

"You know what would really be funny, Eds?" she asks and Eddie pushes down the need to tell her not to call him that. "Is if there was a ring at the bottom of this glass."

He stops chewing for a moment to watch her, clears his throat, then looks back down at the lasagna. "That wouldn't be funny; that would be a choking hazard."

She doesn't say anything more on the subject.

*

Richie's writing on _ American Divorcees _is a big hit. The other writers love his sense of humor and jokes he includes so he keeps writing, tries his best, and focuses his entire efforts on the sitcom.

Sometime before the start of the second season, ratings so high, Richie suggests they add a new character, Alex, to be paired with one of the show's original characters, Sam, who always complained about never liking any of the girls.

"Is Alex short for Alexandra?" asks one of his coworkers, no menace in his voice.

Richie looks at him. "No, it's short for Alexander."

The others mumble a short agreement, interested in seeing a gay character on television. Richie had prepared notes and arguments, a whole backstory for Alex, just to have a fleshed out character to present to the team when he thought of him. As it turns out, he has needed none of those things. The team is accepting and wants Alex to succeed. When he brings up the changes about Sam to the director, he even agrees and says it's an interesting change.

They write out the first episode: Sam meets Alex when he finds him trying to steal a tree off the side of the highway and Sam has just the axe in his back trunk to help him. They don't do anything too overbearing in the first episode together aside from hold hands, a background romance blossoming into something sweet between the two over the course of ten episodes.

The first episode releases a few months later and the outrage is immediate. Richie gets flamed on an online article that his agent sends to him a day after the episode airs: _ Is this what we want the children to see on a family sitcom? _

He decides to look up the episode, _ An Axe Made In Heaven, _and finds widely differing opinions across websites.

_ Comedian "Trashmouth's" Own Coming Out Episode? _

_ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier takes the sitcom world by storm with Alex and Sam, American Divorcee's newest couple. _

_ People are already drawing art of Alex and Sam and HERE are the best ones _

He's flattered by the positive ones that were waxing poetic about a beautiful coming out story in a show that they didn't expect one to be in, and disgusted by the articles that threatened to boycott the show or call Richie himself various names. There were even some threats against Alex and Sam's actors for playing gay characters.

*

Much to Richie's chagrin, the views start getting progressively worse with each new episode. Richie wants to scream - they weren't even the main characters! Allie and Jackson are still the stars of the show, and there are at least four other main couples that come and go more often than Alex and Sam do.

But the ratings drop with every episode that Alex and Sam appear in for longer than thirty seconds, so in the writing room Richie makes the sad decision to pull the plug on their characters if they get a third season.

Although, what with their current ratings, it would take a miracle to do that.

At the end of the season, the ratings have dropped so low that the network cancels them. No one says it's Richie's fault but he knows what his suggestions have done to the team. _ It was a group decision, Rich, _they tell him, but Richie knows what the power of suggestion does.

Thankfully for him, in the final episode, Alex and Sam are seen taking off on a road trip with another stolen tree strapped to the roof of their car so no one can deny them their happy ending.

*

He gets scheduled for an interview a few weeks after the season finale to talk about his creative decisions and generally discuss the show while it lasted. He's not happy about it, but Jones tells him that he should do it, implies that there are _ rumors _going around about Richie that he should try and dismiss.

At the interview, Richie wrings his hands together and feels nauseated.

"Did you know back when you were writing season one that you were going to make Sam gay?" the interviewer asks.

Richie looks to the recorder placed on the table then back to the interviewer. "Uh, no, actually. We sort of discussed that in the writer's room. Sam was this kind of person who didn't want to go on dates with any of the women, so after that season aired we figured, hey, maybe it's because he wants to go on dates with a man."

The interviewer looks at him funny, clears her throat. "That's really interesting to make one of your main characters gay. You don't see that too often."

"Yeah, no, not at all."

"Now, after the episode aired, there were rumors circulating about your own sexuality. Is it true that this season was some way of you coming out to the world?" she asks, staring back into his eyes.

He pauses, opens his mouth, closes it. "Uh, no. It's not. I've, um, I've only dated women. I only plan on dating women." He swallows hard. "I just figured we should have a gay character on the show."

"You've been single for awhile, is that true?"

Richie furrows his brow. "Yeah. About two years now."

"Are you currently trying to find someone to settle down with?" she taps her pen against the notepad.

"What is this? What are you asking me?"

She stares at him silently.

Richie glances around the room, tries to find an answer in her eyes, and fails. "I've been busy these past two years with writing _ American Divorcees. _ When I'm not working on that, I've been writing new standup routines." He tries to take a breath to calm himself down. The last thing he wants to do is damage his reputation any further. "I haven't had time to date anyone. I guess now that it's over, Trashmouth is finally back on the market. Hear that, Los Angeles?" His tone is uneven without his usual jokingness.

The interviewer chuckles politely before falling back to seriousness.

"The final episode of _ American Divorcees _ended with Alex and Sam driving off together. The fans want to know: if there was going to be a season three, what kind of storyline did you have in store for the two of them?"

This was a rollercoaster for Richie and he was at the top of the hill, ready to fly down at any moment. He felt nauseated, gripping his fingers into his jeans. And he just didn't care anymore. He already fucked up the show, there's nothing more to say about it: it was over.

"Yeah, well, they drive off and they go to a motel and there they just _ fuck. _Like, I'm talking doggy style, missionary, sixty-"

"Mister Tozier!" the interviewer says through gritted teeth, but Richie ignores her. If she wants to pry into his private life then she shouldn't care about the details of a _ fictional _relationship.

"Yeah, like, totally going at it. Blow jobs everywhere, morning sex, counter sex. Everything we couldn't show in the second season, they do it."

She slams her finger down on the stop button on the tape recorder and glares at him.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that so we can actually have an interview to publish." She presses the play button again. "Okay, Mister Tozier, tell me what unused plot lines you had for season three. How are the others in their relationships?"

"Oh,_ they're _ fantastic. We actually had a plotline where Allie and Jackson have premarital sex and despite being two adults, her mother - get this - sends an abstinence educator out to her house."

The interviewer grabs the recorder and slams the stop button, shoving it into a bag beside her chair. "Okay, we're done here."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

*

Jones isn't happy. In fact, he's _ very _pissed off at him and Richie knows this because he's not screaming at him.

"Why?" is the only thing he says when Richie picks up the phone.

"And a good morning to you too, Jones."

"Fuck off, Richie. You know why I'm calling."

Richie opens his mouth.

"Don't say anything stupid," Jones adds. Richie closes his mouth. "You're going to redo that interview via email. Check your email and answer it, for God's sake, or I will and you _ won't _like the answers I give her." He pauses. "...please and thank you."

And he hangs up. Richie stands there, half-asleep from being woken up by the call, and puts the phone back on the receiver. 

*

Richie enters into another relationship near the end of the year with a woman named Olivia. She's sweet and has seen a few of his shows, but not enough to be considered a fan he's dating. He met her while trying to make some new habits instead of drinking or smoking, going to a coffee shop every morning to get his mind started before going to sit in his apartment for the rest of the day.

She remembers his order (although it isn't like it's difficult): one extra large coffee, two cream, two sugar. The two hit it up and he invites her out on a date after her work that day, and the rest is history.

_ 2009\. _

Him and Olivia work well together and his manager schedules him back on smaller stages around California. He works on a new set, relying heavily on the material he wrote in between writing _ American Divorcees, _so it didn't have as much of his attention as Richie had normally put into his acts.

Richie finds it to be true when his jokes don't land as well as he thought they would. He gets a few chuckles amongst the crowd, but no uproars or cheers like last time, and by the end of the tour, his agent is phoning him again.

"Why don't you hire a ghostwriter?" Jones suggests, though it's more of a demand. "Just to, you know, write some jokes for you."

"Because I flopped, yes, I know."

"You didn't just flop, you got _ complaints. _I actually had some guy phone me to complain about you! Can you imagine that?"

"Yes, yes-"

"No, you can't. The guy's like, 'Trashmouth is _ conciliatory _now. Is that what you want?' Like he opened up a dictionary and used conciliatory to describe you."

"Sorry, I'll write-"

"No, you're not going to write. You're going to hire someone to write for you."

Richie hears the sound of Jones hanging up and he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

*

So he hires someone because _ why not? _The guy, Pete, is a man who wore a suit to the first time they met despite Richie showing up in cargo shorts and a T-shirt. But Pete is funny and he emailed pretty good material that felt like Richie himself had wrote, so he's hired.

Richie has a lot more free time now that Pete is writing his stuff, so he spends it with Olivia. They go on dates to fancy Los Angeles restaurants, they spend nights in at either of their apartments, and they coexist with one another. But he's bored because he doesn't have much to do. Once a day he'll check his email to see if Pete has emailed over any new content, spend an hour or so memorizing it, make a few tweaks, and his work is done for the day.

Pete likes to write jokes about Richie's childhood, banking off the "friends" he used to talk about on old sets. None of it was real to begin with, and now Richie feels like it adds a second layer of fakeness to it with Pete writing.

He also writes a few jokes about Olivia (on her approval) and about Richie's non-existent parents, which makes his blood freeze when he reads them. But a joke is a joke is a joke, so Richie doesn't say anything about it.

He has a few shows scheduled around Los Angeles at some smaller events: birthdays, a casino, and he thinks even a wedding, just to get his name back in the air.

*

His new tour with the material Pete's written for him goes great. The audience is cheering again, whooping that Trashmouth is no longer _ conciliatory _and going back to his roots (or, at least that's what the articles online say about him afterwards). They sellout merch at every spot they hit and Richie, while at the grocery store, definitely sees someone wearing his merchandise in public.

Olivia never brings up moving into Richie's apartment, and Richie doesn't tell her to take her toothbrush home or to not forget the sweaters she leaves around his apartment. He thinks he's doing well, he _ is _doing well. 

_ 2010\. _

Eddie is reveling in domestic life with Myra because the two of them get along so well. They work in tandem: Myra makes sure Eddie takes his varying medications, schedules him doctors visits, and calms him down when he's about to have an asthma attack. In return, Eddie reminds her to take her vitamins and cooks them breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening.

Happy is one word he would use to describe himself. Maybe enthusiastic? Excited for the prospects of their future together? If he finds himself taking work home or spending later nights at the office, he attributes it to busy season.

She makes vague proposals to rings or marriage or _ 'look at that happy husband and wife, Eddie, darling,' _ that Eddie ignores. He isn't trying to avoid thinking about marriage, but if he brings it up that seems like a one-trip stop to _ actually _doing it, which Eddie just isn't ready for. He's only thirty-four, way too young to be settling down yet (nevermind the fact that there are twenty-five year olds at his firm that are married with children).

*

Richie goes on another tour around the country with his comedy act. It works well everywhere, not just localized jokes about Los Angeles. He works with Olivia in remembering the act, incorporating over the top hand gestures and emphasized words which Olivia laughs at.

A few weeks later, he's leaving with his suitcase packed and a kiss on her cheek to head to their first destination, Las Vegas.

"I've never been to Vegas," she admits, Richie's hand in her hand and his luggage in the other.

"I'll bring you back something from each state." He kisses her one last time and waves goodbye.

*

Eddie notices Richie's touring again in New York because he's set up alerts to remind him. He nearly has an asthma attack when he sees the email, _ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier is coming to a theater near you! _and accidentally thought it to be a personal email straight from the comedian horse's mouth himself.

When he realizes it's just a warning that Richie's coming to New York, Eddie frowns but buys two tickets anyway.

*

When he gave the tickets to Myra, she couldn't understand how he likes that "oaf of a man." Eddie had just shrugged, told her it was because he saw his act ten years ago and now it just feels like destiny. Myra had just given him a look.

The day of the event it's raining, because what better way to welcome Trashmouth into New York than with rain?

"Eddie, we can't go in this weather. It's dangerous," Myra says.

He watches the rain hit the pavement, light enough to cause an even coating of water against the ground, no puddles forming on the road. He doesn't want to argue.

"You're right. Let's just spend the night in tonight."

_ 2011\. _

Despite what Myra thinks, he isn't ignoring every single one of her hints that she wants to get married. So that's why, on their date night, he takes them out to too-fancy restaurant with a ring in his pocket and a prenup contract in the other. He would have set the ring in his fanny pack, which he started to wear to carry his inhaler, but Myra likes to check their expiry dates every so often, so he was worried she would find it.

He knows what the idea of a prenup could do to a relationship, but he's a goddamn _ risk analyst _ for an insurance company. He knows what happens to properties and assets and does _ not _want to deal with any of that, even if he couldn't picture a divorce with Myra ever happening.

When they're seated in the restaurant, the food steaming in front of them, Eddie starts fiddling with his coat pocket, feeling the box in his hand.

"Myra," he says, getting her attention. "We've been together for almost five years already, and you're already moved in with me, but, I mean, New York doesn't recognize common law marriages so I'm just wondering." He starts to pull out the ring, puts it back, then pulls out the prenup contract in his other pocket, decides against that as well, and just holds out his empty hand. "Let's talk about the idea of a prenup."

He watches Myra's face go from excited, to wide-eyed, to a hard stare right into Eddie's face that makes him look away nervously. "A prenup?"

"Yeah, I mean, I know it's maybe not what you wanted to hear, but I think it's important to discuss assets and prepare in the _ case _of divorce."

"We aren't even _ married _yet," Myra grits out.

"Yes, I know, I know." His food is getting cold but he's the one who brought this up. "I want to get married-"

"Then let's get married-"

"But I want to discuss our futures first. I want to make sure you're cared for in case something happens to me, and I want to make sure if - _ if _\- we get divorced, that it goes as smoothly as possible, because I care about you."

Myra doesn't say anything, just looks down and starts to dig into the chicken in front of her. Eddie watches her for a few moments and starts to do the same.

"Did you bring the prenup here?" she asks after a few minutes of picking quietly at her food.

"Yes, I did," says Eddie after a beat.

"Let me see it."

Eddie looks at her strangely for a moment before he pulls out the folded contract from his pocket and passes it to her over their plates, careful not to touch the candle that's burning between them. He watches her unfold it and read it once before folding it back up and passing it back to him.

"Fine," she says. "We'll talk to a lawyer about it and get all the necessary things signed."

"Fine?" he asks, just to make sure he heard her right.

"Yes, fine." She looks down at her plate. "And then we'll get married."

"Fine, yes." He looks down at his own food which seems highly unappetizing at that moment. "We'll do that this week."

The rest of the dinner they eat in silence.

*

The two are married now, a prenup signed without as much fuss as Eddie had expected, and were fully living the domestic life now. Of course, that mainly involves Eddie dropping Myra off at work before heading to the insurance broker Monday to Friday, meeting her at home at the end of the day, and (usually) him cooking supper. But Eddie can't complain because he enjoys the feeling of settling down, relaxing, and having things planned out for him. He isn't a bachelor anymore, eating frozen waffles out of the box anymore.

He gets a call one day when he's halfway to reaching his arm across the back of the couch, Myra sitting beside him. He stops, looks to Myra, before standing up to answer the phone. Usually if work needed him they phoned his cellphone (work provided) or emailed him.

"Hello, this is the Kaspbrak residence, Eddie speaking," he says.

"Eddie? This is Doctor Martin calling from New York Hospital. You are listed down as the next of kin for Sonia Kaspbrak. We need you to come down to the hospital immediately," the doctor says, waiting for Eddie's response.

Eddie freezes, standing stiff in the kitchen.

"Dear, who is it?" Myra calls from the living room, snapping Eddie out of his reverie.

He doesn't answer Myra. "Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hangs up the phone and starts to grab his keys.

"Eddie, who was that?" asks Myra from the living room, the low hum of the television still playing in the background.

He walks back to the living room. "The hospital. They said my mother is in the hospital." 

Myra looks at him, confusion and pity on her face. "Are you going to go?"

"Yeah, I mean, I have to. She's my mother," he answers, dejectedly. He hasn't spoken to her in person in over five years, only brief telephone conversations where she tells him how dangerous the area where Eddie lives is, and that he should come back to stay with her - where it's safe.

"Wear a mask. I don't want you getting sick, dear," Myra says, turning back to the television.

Eddie nods his head once before leaving, speeding down the road to the hospital.

*

His mother's dead. A heart attack, they tell him, which happened around 7:30 PM, and if Eddie remembers correctly he got the call at 7:50 PM after they brought her body to the hospital. He couldn't have made it even if he drove faster. When he sees her body, it's the exact same as he could remember from years ago and he has no thoughts about anything.

Everything happens in a flash, his body beyond his mind acting on its own: phoning the closest funeral home to transport the body, receiving the keys to his mother's apartment, and then driving straight back home. 

He has no time to process anything; he is the sole proprietor to his mother's apartment, her things, and any funeral processes. He's not even sure if she has any friends or remarried when he left home, coasting off of his father's hefty life insurance from twenty five years ago. He accidentally drives in the middle of the road, swerving back to his own lane when another car's lights flash him and honk.

He doesn't know anything about his mother. _ This _version of his mother that existed without him in it. He knows she used to watch those shitty straight-to-television movies that came on at eight o'clock and sometimes he would sit with her and watch until nine, when she would make him go to bed even if it meant missing the climax of the movie.

Though there was a reason he had stopped talking to her, at that moment, in the headlights that shine across the street as he heads back to his apartment, he can't care about the reason. His mother is _ dead. _ There will be no more phone calls from her once a month about sickness or diseases or the world turning upside-down and Eddie thinks he should be glad. But he's not, because that means he can no longer try and _ make _that relationship where they talk and share jokes and tell her about his day.

He presses down on the gas harder, speeding through New York streets, and drives to the old abandoned warehouse that he and Matt used to drive to when he first got his license. It looks exactly the same as when they first went there, ten years ago.

He parks his car and yells in his car, echoing off the metal walls.

*

Richie is confronted by Olivia, worrying her lips and her hands in her lap on his couch. She looks at him, pats the seat next to her, and he sits down next to her. His knee is touching her knee.

"I think we should break up," she says.

Richie makes a noise. "Huh?"

He can't say he's surprised. It's not as if the two were horrible for one another, but the sex had started to die off early in the year and she would leave before kissing him. When the two hung out, they were their usual selves; laughing at Richie's shitty jokes or blasting through _ Mad Men _on Netflix and throwing popcorn at Jon Hamm's face.

Richie doesn't really care that the relationship is ending. He had started to think of her as a cool friend he could have sex with rather than an actual girlfriend and was planning on breaking up with her himself soon.

"I think I like women," she says.

"Ooh," he says, expression turning less into confusion and more into a _ knowing _look.

"Exclusively," she adds.

Richie scratches the back of his head. "All right."

"All right? That's it?" She has a surprised look on her face.

"Yeah. That's it," he says. "Did you want me to say something else?"

Olivia looks at him, shakes her head. "No, no. I'm just surprised, is all."

The two stare at one another for a second. No one wants to stand up.

"I'll tell you a secret since you told me one," Richie starts. "I like men. Not exclusively."

She laughs once and Richie smiles back at her.

"Friends?" she asks, outstretching her arms for a hug.

"Friends." Richie leans in and hugs her, chin on her shoulder.

When they part, the two sit in silence for a moment. "So, how did you know you liked men?" asks Olivia.

For a confusing moment, Richie has memories flash around in his mind: a boy with an inhaler and a broken arm, a man who talked too fast and wouldn't shake hands, the man he met in a bar who told him that he hated his act.

"I guess I just always knew," he answers after a long period of silence. Olivia nods her head. "Truth be told, I lost my virginity to a man, actually. My friends took me to a bar with a fake ID and we just hit it off."

"So you left your friends to go with him?"

"I'm sure they didn't miss me too much," he says. "I was kind of an asshole to them - before _ and _after I left USC."

Olivia snorts. "Tell me about the other ones," she says, shutting her eyes.

"What makes you think there are _ other _ones?"

She opens one eye and peers at him. "You're telling me there's not? Look how famous you are. You must have people crawling all over you."

"I'm a B-list celebrity, at most. The Michael Sheen of comedy." Richie tries not to let his pride overtake him.

"You're a Paul Giamatti, _ at least." _

Richie rolls his eyes. The two spend the rest of the evening talking about celebrities that Richie would be comparable to before Olivia has to leave, taking her things with her, but he doesn't feel sad watching her leave out the door. He only has a freeing feeling in his chest from secrets he's kept for over a decade.

*

Eddie can't explain his reasonings but when a new movie by proclaimed writer _ Bill Denbrough _comes out again, he buys two tickets for the first day after his and Myra's work.

"You didn't even like the first one," Myra says when he presents the tickets to her.

"I think I'll like this one," he answers back. He's used to telling Myra about things that he does, in fact, not hate.

She takes the ticket with a look and the two drive to the theater.

He likes the movie even more than the other one he first saw years ago. It was a movie about four children going on an adventure, trying to find a body that was rumored to be in the forest.

After the movie, Myra complains, but Eddie expects that. He knows she doesn't like anything outside of her usual genres: television dramas. And the next day, on Saturday, Eddie drives out to the bookstore and buys all of the Denbrough books he can find.

He doesn't know why, can't explain it, but he loves reading about small towns and their close-knit group of friends who stick together through thick and thin. Maybe, he thinks, it's just because he never got to experience a childhood like that, what with his only friend being Matt (and they certainly didn't stick together in the end).

*

Eddie has set up a Twitter account. Social media isn't his particular forte, but he learned in an article that famous comedian Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier has one now, so he decided he would use it _ only _for quick updates. In addition to following Richie, he follows Bill Denbrough as well, and is surprised to find that he receives a follow back from Bill a few days later.

He messages Bill with a simple message: _ I just wanted to say I watched a movie of yours a few years ago, The Ghost, and really liked it. I saw Stand Together recently on the first day and enjoyed that one so much that I bought as many books of yours as I could find. I loved reading them. _

And even more to Eddie's surprise, he receives a message back a few days later: _ Thanks, Eddie. Did you hate the endings? -Bill Denbrough _

Eddie makes a face. Is he going to _ lie _ to esteemed writer Bill Denbrough or completely ignore him? The answer was neither: _ Well, I didn't _ not _ dislike the endings. _

He never gets another message back, which Eddie should have expected. Still, he rides the high of being followed back by someone famous for a week.

_ 2012\. _

Richie, Eddie notices, writes about everything in his day: movies he watches, shows he's watching on Netflix (and a lot of mentioning _ @Netflix give me a netflix special), _and likes to interact with the fans. He even tweets a picture of his foot to someone asking (Eddie hopes jokingly) one time.

Bill, on the other hand, tweets in the exact opposite way: he's professional and serious and talks about his books and movie deals and posts pictures of the cast and crew. One day, he posts a schedule of his book signing tour, and Eddie notices that it includes New York City, which means that Eddie _ wants _to go.

He doesn't bring it up to Myra because he knows she'll ask him why he wants to go despite not liking his books (even though he says he does), or tell him that it's flu season and there are way too many people at a book signing. So he heads out on the Saturday while she's taking a nap with a note on the side table saying: _ left to grab lunch, be back at 1. _

The book signing is busy and he worries for a moment that maybe Myra _ was _right. There is someone coughing behind him and Eddie toys with his fanny pack for a moment, wanting to take a vitamin C pill right there or a puff of his inhaler. He ignores the feelings and waits in line, hand gripping his book tightly.

When he gets to meet Bill, the two of them stare at one another for too long.

Bill clears his throat, looks away. "Do I know you? You look familiar."

"No, I don't think so." He hands his book over Bill, who has his hand outstretched and a marker in the other. Eddie freezes, trying to remember why that sentence sounded so familiar, before widening his eyes. "You know, it's funny. Richie Tozier said the exact same thing to me a decade ago."

Bill's hand slides ungracefully across the page, causing the book to have a line of black across it. He looks up into Eddie's eyes. "Richie… that name rings a bell." He hands Eddie back his book with a soft apology in his eyes.

"It probably does. He's a famous comedian, wrote a failed TV series a few years ago - _ American Divorcees." _

Something in Bill's eyes makes Eddie want to reach out to try and comfort him, but he's being ushered along by the people behind him, so he mumbles a quick apology and rushes out of the store, looking back at Bill one last time.

*

_ It's the fucking end of the world and boy do I know it, _Richie tweets, drunk off his ass on New Year's Eve. He has an empty apartment, a bottle of whiskey, and no tours scheduled for the new year so he's bored. And when he's bored, he drinks.

_ Stop auto correcting my tweets I'm trying to seem cool _

_ Fuck. _

_ fuck* _

He takes another swig of the whiskey and sets his phone down. He can barely focus on the show that's playing on his television so he picks up his phone again.

_ What the fuck is this? _he tweets, accidentally not switching the camera around and taking a photo of his face.

He receives a reply almost instantly: _ @ekaspbrak That's just your ugly mug, isn't it? _

Richie's about to click on this guy's profile to send a _ right back atcha, pal, _but something in his mind stops him: Eddie Kaspbrak, with a profile picture of a doe-eyed man looking confused at the camera, as if he didn't realize he was getting a picture taken.

Instead of insulting Eddie, he decides to follow him back. Richie can appreciate someone standing up to the big guys once in awhile, especially when drunk. He gets distracted by the show on the television again and posts a new tweet afterwards: _ i meant this lol, _with a photo of the actual television show this time.

He receives another reply from someone else this time: _ thats the show u wrote lmaoo _

Is it? He tries to squint at the screen and can't make it out, heads or tails, so he takes another swig of the whiskey just to try and clear his head a bit. Maybe if he looked at just the right angle, the Sam's blond hair could be made out, but he can't be too sure.

_ Fuck this I'm going outside, _he tweets, not bothering to shove on a sweater on as he walks outside of his apartment to sit on the bench.

The lights of the buildings blur with the sky and Richie's drunkenness adds another layer that makes the whole scene seem surreal. He points his camera up at it and takes another blurry photo, the corner of his apartment building in the bottom corner of the photo but he doesn't care.

He posts it with the caption, _ Does this remind anyone else of something. _ Underneath the the picture @ekaspbrak has responded again with the simple comment, _ Drink some water asshole so you don't get hungover. _

Richie decides against responding with an _ 'aw you do care abt me' _and instead turns off his phone, shoves it back into his pocket, and watches the night sky as the year turns to a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know way more abt prenups, common law marriages, and spousal support (specifically about NY) than i ever really wanted to know in my life thanks to this chapter
> 
> also if Stephen King can self insert himself as Bill, im using his books as titles for bill's books because i can't think of anything


	5. 2013 - 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double chapter day because im on an absolute roll

_ 2013\. _

Pete, his ghostwriter, has been temporarily laid off from writing for him since Richie hasn't had any major plans to go back on tour. Richie gets a call late in the afternoon, sometime between letting the news run in the background as he zones out and getting ready to make supper (a healthy half-pint of ice cream because he is not in the mood to cook).

When he brings the phone up to his ear, he hears Jones talking immediately.

"Richie, you don't want to do stand up, so you're in luck. I managed to secure you a spot as a writer on a new show the network's doing, _ Bigfoot Hunters, _about two people hunting for Bigfoot," he says.

"...I thought those shows were real," Richie says.

Jones is silent for a moment. "You think _ Bigfoot _is real?"

"Yeah, like, up in the Canadian forests. I wouldn't say he shows his face often. He just happened to get caught that one time."

He hears Jones sigh over the line with a _ Jesus Christ. _ "Okay, just. _ This _show isn't real. It's gonna be a sitcom and they want you to be a writer for it on one condition."

"What's the condition? I can't be making Bigfoot gay?" Richie stresses the word _ gay. _

"You can't make any of them gay."

"Can I put as much homoerotic tension between the hunters as I want?"

"Why do you _ want _to do that, Rich? Are you gay? Are you trying to project onto these characters?"

Richie freezes up, blood running cold. "No," he says, voice small. "I just-"

"It's 2013, so if you want to tell the world, go ahead," Jones interrupts. "All these big celebrities came out a few months ago and look how famous they still are. Jim Parsons, Anderson Cooper-"

"I'm not like them, Jones," he says between gritted teeth. "Tell them I'll take the job and I won't make a single one of them _gay." _He hangs up before he can hear what Jones has to say to him.

*

Eddie, for the most part, forgets about his Twitter, and that one fateful interaction he had with Richie. He does, however, get his tweets as a notification to his phone and sometimes gets odd looks when his phone lights up with _ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier Tweeted: just ate some delicious fucking bread today. _

He's living comfortably with Myra, dropping her off at work when she's scheduled and cooking dinner. They don't have sex and they don't talk about the idea of having children, despite his coworkers all having children and showing him pictures and asking him when he's planning on having some. Eddie can't say it's because he's just not sure he'd be a good fit to be a parent. He never brings up this fear with Myra.

He gets promotions and climbs up the ladder at work, being able to live a life that he's happy with, both at home and at the insurance firm. But there's something missing, Eddie knows that. If he wanted to describe it to Myra (but wouldn't because he doesn't want her to worry over nothing), he would tell her that it feels like he's floating through life and just going through the motions, rather than being excited about the future.

But he doesn't want to worry her, so he doesn't bring it up, and he lets his mind pass by the thought every time it comes to him. Sometimes, the only time he'll laugh during the day is when he gets a notification from Richie's Twitter.

_ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier Tweeted: s _ _  
_ _ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier Tweeted: was gonna say more but completely forgot _

On one occasion, while Eddie is buying a sandwich from the coffee shop around the corner, he spots a man with curly hair sitting in the corner. Eddie sits down and watches him (mentally berating himself for being weird to a stranger) from the corners of his eyes. 

The man must catch him staring because he turns, looks at Eddie wide-eyed, before looking back down at the table. In that moment when the stranger turned, Eddie saw two unmissable scars down the side of his cheek, fading and barely visible. Something in Eddie's heart aches and he winces at the sudden feeling of vulnerability, childish and naive.

He wants to say something, apologize for staring, or ask, _ "have we met?" _but he doesn't do any of that. Instead, he eats his sandwich in silence then leaves the coffee shop back to the office, forgetting about the mysterious man with the scars.

_ 2014\. _

Richie's coworkers are friendly and he gets along well with them, but he can't help feel a pang in his heart when they ask him questions like, _ "why are you still single, Richie? Don't you have fans throwing themselves at you?" _ or _ "Aren't you almost forty, Rich? Isn't it time you settled down?" _ He tries to laugh them off as bad jokes from amateur comedians (though, to be fair, he is _ also _writing on the same show as they are) but something about it hurts him deep down in a spot Richie doesn't like to go to very often.

He messages Pete to start writing another act for him but to make up a girlfriend for him and include more jokes about her, he's gonna go on tour after they're done writing this season.

He performs basic stand up at bars that charge the minimal amount of money to perform. Sometimes people recognize him, other times the audience doesn't interact at all, and Richie's the happiest about that.

On one occasion, he gets sufficiently tipsy at the bar after an act and meets a man with a fanny pack, who looks at Richie like he just smashed his car into his house. Something in Richie's mind just _ clicks _because the next thing he knows they're making out at a booth in the corner of the bar, and then heading back to Richie's apartment to make out on his couch like a couple of nineteen year olds.

The man leaves before Richie wakes up and he hasn't even gotten his name. He thinks that it was probably for the best.

A week later, trying to buy groceries, he comes across a tabloid. The headline, _ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier Exposed? _with a photo of him and the man holding hands, a photo taken that clearly shows it's himself.

He nearly drops his basket of groceries right then and there, holding up the line that's forming behind him as he just stares at the magazine. He hears someone clear their throat behind him, jolting out of his skin, and grabs the magazine to add to his basket.

On the way out of the store and to his car he pages through the tabloid and looks at the article of him and the man. Two photos of them in the booth, another photo of them huddling close as they walk back to Richie's apartment, and finally them kissing in the front foyer as they wait for the elevator up.

He gets in his car and throws the magazine into the passenger's seat, leaning his forward against the steering wheel. The loud ring of his phone cuts into his thoughts before he has any time to wallow in them.

_ J. Jones, _his phone announces, and he puts it up to his ear.

"Why don't you just tell me things?"

Richie clears his throat, tries to put on his best innocent voice. "I have no idea what you mean, Jones."

"Cut the act, Richie. I've been your agent for seventeen years, you think I don't know when you're lying?" Richie doesn't say anything so Jones continues. "Good. Okay. You could've just told me. So you're into guys, so _ what? _But making out with a guy at the bar means we have to do damage control."

"Damage control?" asks Richie, head still against the steering wheel.

"Yeah, like making sure the guy you made out with doesn't end up being harassed because of this. Do you even know his name?"

"Uhh…"

"Great! Okay. First step is to find him. Then, I have to tell the guys down at _ Bigfoot Hunters _that this won't affect your writing - because they definitely emphasized that point when they asked for you."

"Fuck, right, Bigfoot guys."

"Uh-huh. Finally, do you _ want _to come out to the world, Richie? We'll put you on a talkshow and you can tell him about your sad backstory and how you realized you liked men. Make it funny or something."

Richie pauses. "No, I don't want to do that."

"So you're just, what, out then? You're just gay?" asks Jones.

He thinks about the women he's dated and had sex with, about how the early infatuations made him feel. He thinks about Doug, about how Richie panicked and freaked and how it _ didn't _make him feel like that. Then he thinks about the man with the doe eyes who wasn't afraid to tell Richie he wasn't funny and how he never got out of his head, even when he forgot his name and his face and still thinks about him fifteen years later.

Fleetingly, a memory of a boy from years ago: young, his age, who hurled insults and slurs at him and maybe Richie was never that brave to begin with. He's always loved in the shadows, behind two shots of whiskey and closed doors. He isn't made for confrontation.

"No, I'm not gay," Richie breathes out. He hears Jones on the other end sigh. "It was a one time thing, I was just curious."

"Richie…" says Jones, a delicate tone in his voice that's unlike anything Richie has ever heard from the man. "Okay. We'll talk later."

Jones hangs up and Richie slowly peels his head up from the steering wheel. He starts the car, puts it into drive, and takes off to his apartment.

*

Eddie goes through life numb. Well, he's happy, but he feels like it should make him feel something else. He'd like to be angry again, he thinks, even if it's confrontational and vehement. And he'd like to feel sad again, melancholic, listening to sad music in his room like he's fifteen again. But he has a wife, he has a job, he has a good car and apartment and he likes to shop at the farmer's market on Thursdays and chat with the grocers there, so why wouldn't he be happy?

Eddie stumbles across the tabloid with Richie on it when he's buying food for dinner, perched on the magazine rack between a recipe magazine and a diet magazine. He picks it up, looks solemnly at the photo on the front cover (irrefutably the Trashmouth himself), before placing it in his basket.

Myra doesn't understand the need to collect all of this merchandise of someone he met once fifteen years ago, but Eddie explains it as just supporting local comedians, which she had countered with,_ he's not even local. _Eddie doesn't want to argue.

Sure, he owns a few shirts (which he can never wear in public) and the DVDs he's released, the tabloids Richie appears in, and _ sure _ he followed him on Twitter and gets notifications whenever he posts but he isn't a _ fan. _

A fan would be someone who gets sad when Richie goes completely radio silent after the tabloid event: which is exactly what Eddie does. He tries to deny the weird feeling he gets whenever he sees the last tweet Richie has posted from a few months ago, _ paddington best movie oscar calling it, _but he has nothing else to blame it on.

_ 2015\. _

Eddie's been getting into arguments with Myra over everything almost everyday and it's making him frustrated. He tries to bring it up to her while they're sitting in the living room, opposite ends of the couch, still mad from yesterday's argument. He has to remember what his searches said: don't blame and use "I" statements.

"Myra," he starts. She doesn't look at him but he knows she's listening because the television is already quiet. "I feel like we've been getting into a lot of arguments lately and I would like to know what is bothering you."

Myra looks at him with a startling look. "What's bothering _ me?" _she asks. "You're the one who hasn't been taking his medicine. You're going to get sick, Eddie."

"Well, yes, but that's because it ran out and the doctor said I don't really need it." He pauses, looks away guiltily. "They said it was just a placebo and that people get colds all the time."

"Dear, you know you don't have a good immune system."

He wants to say _ 'the doctor said I have a fine immune system, that I don't need the medicine, that I don't even need an inhaler because I don't have asthma,' _but he doesn't because the way Myra is looking at him (a look between a glare and immeasurably pity, like watching a sick puppy in the rain) makes something in his stomach twist.

"I'll take the vitamins still, but I won't refill the inhaler," he says. Myra turns back to the television.

"When you get sick, don't blame me," she says.

For a long time after, Eddie starts to sleep on the couch.

*

Richie's coworkers had gave him weird looks after the whole tabloid event and after the season ended, he didn't want to talk to them. Bigfoot Hunters ended as an _ incredible failure, _ as one article had put it and Richie can't help but agree; the whole concept was idiotic to begin with. So he's on tour again to try and damage control the whole situation. He even starts back on Twitter with a _ Guess I was wrong lol. _

The new jokes are landing well and Richie will have to thank Pete for the excellent jokes about his "girlfriend". They're raw and the long-time fans say that the material is just like old-Trashmouth again, so they're happy.

On his stop in Idaho after the show, he does his routine then heads out the backstage to meet with fans. He signs a few autographs, takes some pictures with fans, and someone comes up to him to shake hands. Richie didn't find that particularly weird nor interesting. Under the bright back lane lights, the man looks barely even twenty years old.

"Hey, I know this is kinda weird, but last year when that tabloid came out about you and that guy from the bar, it gave me the courage to come out to my own family," he says and Richie can't breathe. "I'm really thankful. They've taken it well."

Richie wants to tell him that the tabloid didn't list all the facts (which Richie himself didn't know about), or that it's _ just _a tabloid, a one time thing because he was curious.

"You're really courageous, man," Richie says instead. "I'm grateful that I could help. Though I didn't do much."

The man looks over his shoulder to see someone else waiting behind him. "Oh, I better get going." He looks Richie in the eyes before nodding once and leaving, Richie giving him a quiet, _ thanks for coming to the show, _before he disappears out of sight.

*

In New York City, Richie exits through the backstage again into the alleyway, the door already surrounded by a few fans. It's going to be a long night and he really just wants to lie back down in his bed and sleep before hitting the road in eight hours, but he doesn't want to disappoint the fans.

He signs papers, takes photos, cracks jokes with them, before finally two people are left, having hung out at the back of the crowd: a man and a woman. The man comes up to him first, the woman standing back a few feet from him.

"You look familiar," says Richie to him, because he did even though a lot of people look the same when he's touring. "Have we met before?"

"I get that a lot," the man says, then clears his throat. "I, um, actually saw your act way back in California."

"Oh? Are you like a groupie, following me on my tour?" Richie asks, cocking an eyebrow. The man rolls his eyes.

"Not at all. I meant _ way _ back in California, when you first did your comedy in that dingy little bar, _ The Rogue Nutcracker, _I think it was called?"

Richie widens his eyes. "That long ago? Jesus, you must be a super fan. When was that, '99?"

"No, I'm not." The man pauses. "And it was '98."

"So, you want an autograph with the great Trashmouth? Maybe a photograph to print off and keep in a frame?" Richie asks, wanting to move closer to the man inexplicably.

They turn abruptly when they hear the woman the man is with, completely having forgot she was standing there. "Eddie, we're going to get a disease standing in this alleyway. Let's _ go," _she says, giving him a look.

Eddie turns back to Richie, lips thin and an apology in his eyes. He nods his head in the direction of the woman before looking back to Richie. He understands, nods once, and watches the man leave.

It's only when they're out of sight does Richie realize that the woman called him _ Eddie _and that he remembers that face - a much older appearance now - from all those years ago. He tries to rush around the corner to find them but by the time he gets there, they're already gone.

_ 2016\. _

Eddie is on the way to a _ very _important client and arguing with Myra on the phone. Their marriage had been on a downhill slope since the beginning of the year but Eddie doesn't seem to care. Trying to talk to her was like trying to talk to a brick wall, but one that would shut him down instantly and tell him to take his medicine.

"I know statistically speaking I am much more likely to get into an accident talking to you on the phone," he says, reaching into the glovebox and taking his medicine, ones that Myra had gotten for him after a long argument that lasted two days. "Bye, I have to go."

He receives another phone call.

"Hello, Edward Kaspbrak speaking."

"You didn't say _ I love you, bye _ like you always do."

And that's when he sees it, the words that make his heart leap up into his throat and his lungs tighten: _ Derry, Maine. _

"I love you, mommy," he says, before correcting himself.

And before the man from Derry can explain himself, Eddie runs a red light and crashes his car.

*

Richie is doing local tours around Los Angeles again just for old time's sake. He's kind of sick of touring and the constant traveling around the country. Being able to head back home for the night is nice, being able to sleep in his own bed is even nicer.

It's right before the show when he gets the phone call from Derry, Maine.

"Hello, Richie? This is Mike," the man says.

And it's not long after that Richie is puking over the stairs minutes before he's supposed to start his act. He's somewhere else while his body is being pulled through the backstage to the front and he wants to run. He _ has _to run. But he's getting pushed out already and starting his act before he can say anything else.

"That's why they call me Richie 'Trashmouth'..." He freezes, those voices of old friends running through his mind at lightning speed. "I forgot the joke."

The people boo him, he sees the stagehand slap his face against his head, and Richie saunters off stage like there weren't a thousand expectant eyes staring at him. He goes to the bathroom and throws up in the toilet.

*

After the crash and a lengthy process of exchanging insurance and making sure everything was okay between the taxi driver, Eddie (none of which he had time for) calls another taxi and tells him to go back to his apartment and wait outside.

Myra is waiting there for him, a drink in one hand, candles lit. Eddie takes a deep breath.

"I thought you had an important meeting," Myra says.

Eddie doesn't have time for this. He needs to leave, _ It's _back and he doesn't even know what It is. He made a promise years ago, that's all he remembers. His palm is starting to ache. He rummages around in the closet looking for a suitcase.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" She stands up from the chair. "Hey!"

"I want a divorce," is what he says, and immediately widens his eyes in fear. That isn't what he meant to say. Maybe more of a _ 'this is going to sound crazy but I have to go to Derry to fulfill an old childhood promise' _ or maybe even a lie like _ 'work scheduled me on a sudden trip out to meet a client, I'll be back soon' _but the adrenaline is coursing through his veins and making him rash. He's already got into a car crash, he doesn't care anymore. His palm is burning.

"What?" Myra walks over to him, blocking him between the closet and herself. "Divorce?" She places the back of her hand onto his forehead and he immediately winces away. "You're feverish, dear, you can't be going anywhere."

She tries to tug his arm away from the suitcases, pull him back to his room, but he grips it away. "I'm not feverish. I want a divorce. We've been arguing non-stop for the past year and - and we don't do _ anything _together anymore - you just seem like a guest - and you're making me take those pills again that don't even do anything. They're - they're -"

A tiny voice rings out in his mind: _ gazebos. _ He shakes his head. "They're _ bullshit, _Myra." He grabs the suitcase, then another for good measure, and heads upstairs. "I have to go save my friends."

Eddie packs as fast as he possibly can, shoving shirts and pants and ties and all of his clothes into one suitcase. He has time to think as he monotonously tosses clothes into his suitcase, so think he does. He thinks about Derry and his old friends, he thinks about that Trashmouth and why he can't _stop_ thinking about Trashmouth. He remembers Elijah and how he subsequently tried to _not_ think about Elijah. Or Matt, and the kiss on the cheek he gave him before he left for UCLA and how Eddie felt more in that moment than he ever did with any of his exes. It isn't like he owns a whole lot of things so his thoughts get cut short, but he manages to fill two large suitcases. He hustles downstairs and Myra is watching him, arms crossed.

He takes a deep breath. "I'll send the divorce papers from Maine," he tells her, walking out the door.

In a scene so familiar to Eddie that he finally realizes in a lost memory from Derry, Myra storms out the door behind him. "Don't do this to me, Eddie!" she yells, but Eddie is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know even _more_ about divorces now thanks to this chapter


	6. 2016 - Derry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a bit of description of violence and blood (or just wanna not read about the clown in general), it starts after this whole line: "It's a fucking closet."  
And ends at: "The rest of the ride to the hospital is silent."

_ 2016 - Derry. _

They're at the Jade and they're getting wasted because they remember one another. Maybe it's because they want to _ forget _that they remember (that's certainly the reason Richie's drinking). Their check-in into the Derry Townhouse had provided Richie with no help into anything because he couldn't find a single person working, so maybe he grabbed a key and a room and shoved his measly bag into one of them.

He's explained away his absence to his agent with a _ family emergency, gotta go. _ Which Jones had responded with _ 'you don't _ have _ any family, Richie,' _but said nothing more on the matter. It isn't like he's taking days off from a major tour every month.

At the Jade, he sees Eddie, and maybe nearly thirty years of lost memories don't start to fly back at him immediately, but he remembers him: the hypochondriac, the one with the obsessive mother that Richie used to joke about fucking, the one that Richie was - _ is _ \- irrrevocably in love with, though he would never use those exact words. Something like ' _ I fucked your mother but I'd rather fuck you' _ is more his forte.

For lack of a better word, it's _ weird _to be back seeing all his friends again. He remembers them slowly as they talk, giving brief but meaningful sentences about their near-thirty years they haven't seen one another.

"So you're a comedian now, huh?" Bill asks him. "Got paid to do what you did for f-free, huh?"

Richie finishes his shot. "Yeah, and I hear you're a writer now."

The group makes a noise of _ ooh. _

"Bill, you're a writer?" Ben asks, and the group stops talking about Richie.

Eddie's to his right, a chair between them empty for Stan, but the others are busy so he decides to bother him. In his turn to look at Eddie, he can see Mike give him a knowing look which Richie chooses to ignore.

"How's life with you, Eddie Spaghetti?" he asks him. Eddie's holding a goddamn glass of white wine with four fingers.

"Uneventful. I actually went to NYU and majored in risk assessment, then went and got married," Eddie says, quiet on the _ married. _

"That's all you been doing for twenty seven years?"

"Fuck you. Some of us like our normal office jobs." Eddie takes a sip of his wine and Richie tries not to look at Eddie's lips as he takes a sip. "What about you? What have you been doing? Aside from being a dick on stage."

"Oh, not much. You must've seen my shows already, but aside from that I've actually been doing your mother."

Eddie glares at him. Something in him looks so familiar - beyond just the childhood memories - that Richie can't place. He makes a mental note to ask Eddie about it later, or maybe Mike because Mike would probably know. He had known where they were (although it's not like it's hard to find where Richie is at any given time), so maybe he would know what it means when you can't remember someone.

"Wait, you got married?" Richie asks, the reality of what Eddie said finally hitting him. "To a woman?"

"Fuck you, dude."

And maybe Richie has to believe it because Eddie's still wearing his ring. His best friend has been happily married to a woman for however long while Richie has been drinking and touring and holding failed relationships. Something in his chest squeezes and he quiets down, listening to the group move on to talking in pairs.

*

The fortune cookies were fucking shaking and rattling and they're batting at their heads and he sees Mike smash a chair against the table before it just _ stops _when the waitress comes back in. Mike gives her a weak smile.

Eddie's worried about Stan because he hasn't shown yet. Maybe his plane crashed, or maybe he got into a car accident if he decided to drive? He doesn't stop talking about it until they get to the parking lot and even then he's fairly sure Eddie is ranting to himself in the car, mouth opening and closing as he raises his hand in exasperation.

Richie wants to leave, he _ has _to leave, consequences of drunk driving be damned. The four of them speed back to the Inn in their respective vehicles.

Bill and Mike were staying back at the restaurant to pay for the damages and probably catch up a bit longer, outside of the prying ears of the rest of them. Richie can't really blame them after what a mess their first hour together has been.

They're rushing up the stairs and going back into their rooms to grab their things, Eddie in tow nearly on his heels.

"What the _ fuck _was that?" Eddie hisses out, trying to unlock his bedroom door.

"It's that fucking clown. It's messing with us." Richie tries to unlock the door but his hands are shaking. Eddie grabs the keys out of his hands and unlocks his door for him, and Richie nods back quickly.

He's going to go back to Los Angeles, maybe apologize on his hands and knees to Jones, beg him not to fire him. He thinks about Eddie, about him going back to a caring wife and his nice New York apartment and his stable career. Maybe if Richie pouts just a bit, Eddie will fly back to California with him, just for a vacation. He decides against it. 

It's not like Richie really had time to unpack so he shoves whatever clothes he took out back into his bag and runs down the stairs.

"Eduardo, _ andale!" _he yells to Eddie and watches him jog down the steps a minute later with two large suitcases.

*

So what if he got talked into grabbing his stupid "token" and helping Mike with the ritual? It's just a token, quite literally. He can handle it. Then he can leave and go back on his tour and pretend that none of this happened and he's happily living his life in his Los Angeles apartment.

But the arcade brings back memories that Richie never wanted to remember in the first place: Henry Bowers hurling a name at him for wanting to play another round with a boy, their hands gently brushing against one another as they tried to combo one another.

Kids were mean, he thinks, but he knows it isn't just kids. Mike had told the five of them that last week about Adrian Mellon and it made Richie's blood run cold. He grabs his token and leaves.

He needs to leave this town because it reminds him of his childhood, something that Richie has been very good at forgetting over the past twenty-seven years. It reminds him of this arcade and Henry Bowers and, worst of all, his crush on Eddie.

He's forty! He shouldn't be getting crushes like a twelve year old again! Not to mention that Eddie is _ married _ and to a woman no less. He's not gay, he's taken, and why the fuck would he like Richie when they haven't spoken in so long? The only memories Eddie would have had of him before he left would be Richie being an absolute little shit. Why would that be _ anyone's _good memories of him?

*

_ Fuck it, _he thinks as he's leaving. Ben chases after him up the stairs and blocks the doorway as Richie grabs his bag and tosses it across his shoulder.

"Richie, you have to stay," Ben says. "Lucky seven, remember?"

"Stan's not here," he tells him.

He looks up to see Ben's face fall. "I don't want to lose another one."

Richie sighs. His things were packed and it took less than thirty seconds. He glances around at the room and, in that moment, remembers a younger Eddie telling the seven of them to _ remember your exits, guys, what if there's a fire? _

"Okay. You're right." He puts down his bag on the bed, trying his best to lie to his friend's face. "I'll be down in a minute."

Ben smiles at him, pure and innocent and so trusting, and leaves. When he can hear Ben back on the first floor, Richie grabs his bag and runs out the fire escape staircase.

*

The ritual doesn't work. The ritual doesn't _ fucking _work and now they're yelling at Mike to do something or tell them it's going to be okay; that the big red balloon growing in the center is meant to happen.

Him and Eddie are running as fast as their forty year old bodies can (of course Eddie's in shape because he's _ Eddie). _ He doesn't have time to think as they come across the doors: _ not scary, scary, very scary, _ yelling at Eddie to trust him as he opens the _ very scary _door.

It's a fucking closet. Of _ course _ it's a fucking closet. _ Fuck you, clown, _he thinks. He tries not to think about that as a pair of goddamn legs runs out at him and Eddie are shrieking again, clinging to one another for dear life.

*

He's trapped in the Deadlights and he sees their fates: he sees a man with curly hair in a bathtub of blood, transforming into Eddie, blurry, standing in front of him with It's claw through his abdomen, _ dead. _

More importantly, he feels calm. Like he can't bring himself to care that he's watching his friend die right in front of eyes because he can't feel anything.

And then he's awake, dazed, pulled out of the Deadlights as if he were awaken from the middle of a dream. Eddie is standing over him, yelling about how _ he did it _and wasn't Eddie always the one reminding them never to turn their backs to Henry Bowers? His instincts kick in immediately as he kicks Eddie's leg, hard, and pulls him down to his side.

Halfway through falling down, It's claw juts out, grabs Eddie's arm, and snaps it straight in two.

There's shrieks from the both of them as Richie watches Eddie hit the ground on his back with a loud _ thud. _Richie's body is moving without him, hauling up Eddie and dragging him to the corner to make him lay down against the rocks, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he goes.

He wishes one of them would make a joke: tell Richie that he's going to get an infection from the sewer water, or ask Eddie _ 'you need a hand with that?' _ but he can't because his friend is bleeding out and going into shock.

He has to remember what to do, can't think of what else, so he takes off his sweater and wraps it around Eddie's arm, soaking it with blood immediately. He grabs Eddie's hand up to the sweater and tells him to hold onto it tightly.

They defeat the clown surprisingly easily, bullying it until it's a rotten husk and Mike pulls out his heart. Richie makes a face at how gross that seems and wishes Eddie could watch it happen because then he'd say something like _ 'do you even know what kind of diseases he has? He's a fucking space alien he's probably got like Space-Mono or something' _but Eddie is bleeding out on the rocks ten feet away.

His breath is shallow, skin clammy and sweating. Ben hauls him up on his back and they carry him out. The house collapses the instant they hit the fresh air and it's daylight out; they were in Neibolt all night.

They're running down the street to the local hospital because they only brought their bikes back to the house.

"Seriously, who the fuck's idea was it to ride on a _ bike?" _Richie asks. Ben's keeping a steady pace even with Eddie on his back and Richie's lungs are constricting, but he needs to keep going because his friend is dying.

Mike and Bill had ridden back to the Inn on their bikes to grab Mike's car and meet up with them en route, but until then they run. They remember Derry, they remember the route. Bev is keeping pace behind Ben better than Richie is.

The two pull up with the car after a few more minutes, screeching to a halt in front of them. The three of them pile into the back and lay Eddie down across their laps because the car doesn't have a hatchback and Mike's truck is at the farm.

Eddie's head is resting against the window, breathing slow and shallow, eyes shut, skin cool. Richie runs his fingers through his hair and tries not to think. He feels the blood seeping through the sweater around his arm into Richie's shirt.

"Don't worry, Eds," he tells him. "That's usually the part where you'd say something like, _ don't call me that, asshole." _He lets his guard down and leans forward, lightly resting his forehead against Eddie's before sitting back up.

He sees Bev give him a look of pity as she holds Eddie's legs on her lap. He sees Mike looking back at him in the rearview mirror. _ Jesus, _did everyone fucking know? The rest of the ride to the hospital is silent.

*

It's a rural hospital but they do the best they can to fix Eddie's arm. His actual arm was somewhere down in Neibolt under broken boards and he'll have to apologize later for not remembering to take it.

They're sitting in the waiting room, shoulder to shoulder, and no one wants to say anything. They're tired and he sees Bill falling asleep, head on the back of the chair. Richie blinks away the sleep in his own eyes.

"He has a wife," says Richie suddenly, half in remembrance that they _ will _need to tell her eventually and the other half because he has a fucking wife. "Does anyone know her number?"

Mike pulls out his cellphone. "I have it." The others give him a weird look. "What? I managed to get in contact with all of you."

"I'll phone her," Richie says, holding out his hand. The weird looks turn to him now. "What? Can't a guy phone the wife of the guy he likes? Geez." He widens his eyes, realizing what he said. "I mean, he's my best friend, and-"

"Jesus, relax, Richie," Mike says. "It was obvious."

"Fucking was not." He looks around the group. "It _ wasn't." _

The others make a noise like _ yeah, it kinda was. _

"Fuck you guys."

"I'm going to go phone, um," Mike says, gestures to the phone, and stands up.

"Are you going to tell him?" Ben asks.

"Are you gonna tell Bev?" Richie asks.

Ben and Bev look at one another before laughing. "We already told one another, Rich," says Bev, reaching out her hand to place on Ben's.

They can hear yelling over Mike's phone and Richie makes a face. "Eddie sure knows how to pick 'em."

Ben and Bev share a look. "When did you get into comedy?" asks Ben, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, like, right after I flunked out of USC. Did some comedy in the clubs with a fake ID, then I got a real ID and started doing comedy in bars." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. He's tired but he doesn't want to sleep because he fears he'll forget again. "You know, I gotta ask. Did you guys date people who were kinda like one another? Cause I sure did. I fucked a guy who wouldn't shake hands because of the germs."

Ben looks at him, sadly. "I didn't date anyone else, not for long at least. I was so in love with Bev and I remembered her because of that yearbook page she gave me."

Bev sighs. "I married a man who's exactly like my father."

"Yikes, I'm sorry, you two." He smiles awkwardly at the two of them. "At least I didn't _ remember _him."

Ben waves his hand and Bev gives him a tired smile. Mike rejoins the four of them and sits down.

"How'd it go?" Richie asks.

"She yelled at me, told me it was _ my _fault that Eddie got hurt. She's flying out here and she'll be here in about four hours," says Mike, tossing his phone over in his hands.

"You do know that Derry only has the _ one _Inn, right?" Richie says. "The one that all of us happen to be staying at?"

"I can't exactly let her sleep in a car." Mike sighs. "And, with Eddie in the hospital, there will be a free room available."

"I'm staying here. I'll sleep here. She can have my room." Richie crosses his arms.

They hear footsteps approach them and Richie is out of his chair so fast his head spins.

"Hello, you're here with Eddie Kaspbrak, right?" the doctor says. "The surgery went fine, he's resting right now. He can't have any visitors today, he's on a lot of antibiotics and painkillers. You can come back tomorrow during visiting hours." He pauses again. "Are any of you related to Mister Kaspbrak? Only immediate family is allowed to see him."

Richie raises his hand and steps forward. "Yes, I'm, uh, his husband?" he says, and maybe it will work because he _ wants _to see Eddie, make sure he's okay. He hears Bill slap a hand against his face in embarrassment.

"Aren't you Richie Tozier, 'Trashmouth'?" the doctor asks. "I'm sorry, but I think we'd know if you two were married. Tell his next of kin or _ actual _spouse to see the front desk." He walks away.

"Did you really think that would work?" asks Bill, voice heavy with sleep.

"Shut up." He sits back down and crosses his arms again. "Sucks being famous. I wish I was like you, Ben."

Ben laughs. "I'm on signs in a _ lot _of new housing developments."

"Oh shit, that's right!" He points his finger at Ben. "You know, you're the reason my first serious girlfriend and I broke up."

"What? How?" asks Bev, a laugh in her voice.

"Yeah, okay, like we accidentally drove to a show home-"

"How do you _ accidentally _drive to a show home?" Mike asks.

"And I was saw your name on the sign and was like, 'Hey, why don't we buy a house? Move in together?' And she didn't like that so she broke up with me."

"It feels like there's a lot of details you're leaving out," says Ben. "And that's not my fault!"

"It was your fault! It was _ your _ house! Big and bold: _ Buildings by Ben Hanscom!" _He opens his fist, fingers outspread. "If I hadn't seen your name, I wouldn't have brought up buying a house!"

"That is _ absolutely _your own fault, Rich," says Bev.

"You're just siding with him because he's your boyfriend!" Richie raises his voice, laughing loudly.

That's when the group hears a loud _ a-hem _from the person at the front desk and Richie grimaces.

"Sorry," says Ben, turning to her. He turns back to the group. "I think we better head back to the inn."

They all pile out of the hospital and back into Mike's car. Eddie's blood is splattered across the backseat, leaving a permanent stain. It's also across Richie's front shirt and a bit on his pants like he's a murder victim. It's totally a great thing Richie only brought one extra pair of pants and a shirt, he's going to have to steal a few items from Eddie's luggage.

As soon as Richie gets back to the inn and up to his room, he peels off the shirt and pants and tosses them aside to later throw away. He jumps into bed and falls asleep instantly.

*

A few blissful hours of sleep later, he's awoken to Mike arguing with someone downstairs. It's a woman's voice, rushed and panicked and way too loud for him at the moment. He wants to throw a pillow over his head and try to sleep again, but something in that voice feels familiar, so he trods downstairs in just his boxers, strangers be damned.

"-the hospital and they'll let you in, he's just on painkillers right now so he probably won't be awake," Mike says, raising his hands defensively.

Myra spots Richie first at the bottom of the steps. "Wait, you're that guy my Eddie likes so much. The - the comedian."

_ "Your _Eddie?" Richie asks, voice heavy with sleep. He doesn't want to deal with this right now. "Yeah, I'm… that guy."

"Richie, this is Eddie's wife, Myra," Mike explains. "Please, Myra, I'll let Eddie explain everything when he wakes up. You can go visit him in the hospital right now."

"Has he been using his inhaler?" she asks, fumbling around in her bag for something before pulling out an inhaler. "He left his at home so I just want to make sure he's okay."

"Wait, inhaler?" Richie walks towards the two of them. "He doesn't need that. He doesn't _ have _asthma."

"Yes, he does. He also didn't take his other medications with him." She puts the inhaler back into her bag. "I knew he shouldn't have come here."

"If he needs any medications, the hospital will give it to him," says Mike, voice small as if he doesn't want to argue. Richie knows he's tired.

"I told him it was too dangerous. Someone called him and it made him delusional; he even crashed his car after the phone call. _ Then _he comes into the apartment, skips work, and tells me that he wants a divorce!"

_ Wait, _ Richie thinks, _ divorce? _Eddie had never mentioned that little piece of information to them.

"Can't see why he would ever want a divorce," Richie deadpans.

Myra glares at him. "I'm going to go see Eddie and talk to him about this." She turns on her heel and storms off, slamming the door shut to the inn.

Mike and Richie stare at the door for a second. "Wow," says Richie.

"No kidding. If I had known they were getting divorced, I would have waited until Eddie was awake to phone her."

Richie lets out a breath, nodding.

"I'm going back to bed," he says. "I have so fucking much to think about."

*

After sleeping through the rest of the day and most of the night, the five of them decide to visit Eddie as soon as it's visiting hours. The nurse tells them that Eddie's on painkillers so he may not make much sense, and that the visitors are limited to two at a time.

"Bill, I think you should go because you've known him the longest. And…" Richie puts a hand up to his chin. "Hm. Maybe Bev. Make it not such a sausage fest in there."

"Richie. You're going in there first," Bill says. "Alone."

"What? Little ol' me?" he asks in a southern belle accent, placing a hand to his chest. 

Everyone stares at him, hard gazes that dig deep into Richie's psyche. "Well, all right," he continues the accent, "don't forget to write me, though." He walks away backwards, pretending to wave a fake handkerchief in the air.

When he's out of their sight and at Eddie's room, his disguise drops and his hands start to shake as he enters the room. The blinds are open, coating the room in sunlight; the television is on, humming softly in the background; and there's Eddie, propped upright on the sheets, shirtless, an arm missing.

Richie could cry right then and there. Seeing Eddie without panic in his eyes or hurt in his tone or covered in blood stirs up Richie's stomach and makes his heart pound in his chest. Eddie's _ okay. _ He's more than okay, he's _ alive. _

"Take a photo, it'll last longer," Eddie says to him, eyes fluttering open and closed.

"Come here often, sweetcheeks?" Richie asks, moving to the bed and sitting on the edge of it.

"What? Where?"

"Like, here." He points to the bed, then gestures to the hospital room. "I mean, when you fell from heaven, it must've hurt. Must've taken you to the hospital before."

"Richie, shut the fuck up," he says, languidly. "Please."

Then he's reaching out for Richie's hand and holding it, squeezing Richie's fingers between his own.

"I've lost an arm," he says, shrugging his right shoulder and snorting. "I'm feeling good."

Richie runs his fingers from his free hand through Eddie's hair. "That's 'cause you're probably high as fuck right now, Eds."

Eddie furrows his brow then relaxes into the touch. "I always hated it when you called me that." He shakes his head, Richie's fingers falling out of his hair. "I think I hated it more when Myra called me that."

Richie doesn't say anything, watching Eddie close his eyes then widen them as if he didn't want to fall asleep.

"We're divorcing, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. She came to the inn and was arguing with Mike."

Eddie gasps. "Mike! How's he doing?"

"He's doing fine. You saw him like, a day and a half ago."

Eddie furrows his brow again. "I did? When?"

"Yeah, buddy, you did." Richie breathes out a laugh and Eddie frowns. "Like, everywhere? We killed the clown as a group, so you definitely saw him there. Maybe he was there at the Jade, too. Definitely at the inn."

"The inn! Myra was at the inn!" His shoulder moves as if trying to gesture with his non-existent hand. "I told her I'm unhappy."

"I'm proud of you. You know, she's basically like your mother was."

"I _ know! _That's the - the worst part." He pauses. "Can you scratch my head? I don't want to let go of your hand."

Richie rolls his eyes as he puts his hand back into Eddie's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

"Okay, _ that's _not the worst part. The worst part is that I'm - I'm - what's the word? I like men and not her? And yet I didn't realize until I was forty."

"Gay?"

"Yeah! I'm fucking gay!" He raises their conjoined hands in the air. "And I didn't even know it!"

"Fuck, Eddie, what have they got you on here?" Eddie's eyes are starting to close again, so Richie knows he's going to have to leave soon. "You know, that's not bad, dude. I had sex with men and still-"

Richie gets stopped by Eddie raising their hands to Richie's lips and shushing him. "Don't tell me now, asshole. I won't remember it."

"Maybe I don't want you to remember."

"Yeah you do."

Yeah, okay. He did.

"Don't I have other friends?" Eddie asks. "Or did they leave already?"

Richie rolls his eyes. "Want me to go get them? They're only allowing two at a time, so tell me who you want."

Eddie presses his back into the pillow, shuts his eyes, and makes a noise. "The funny one. And Ben."

"I'm already here, idiot." He stands up and wills himself to let go of Eddie's hand. "I'll bring Ben back."

"I know _ you're _ already here. I mean Bev."

Richie fakes offense but leaves the room anyway, one lasting glance as Eddie closing his eyes.

*

They come and go over the following two days, visiting Eddie in pairs of two (and sometimes letting Richie go by himself, which he always glares at them when they suggest it, but appreciates it nonetheless). There's not much to do in Derry, there never was aside from things they don't want to talk about, so they're starting to get bored.

It's a welcome change, albeit strange, when they see a car parked in the inn's parking lot that none of them recognize.

"Maybe it's someone trying to check in?" suggests Ben.

"Wouldn't they leave when they realize no one works there?" asks Bill.

"Not if they were stealing our stuff," says Richie.

The five of them look to one another, wide-eyed, and walk slowly to the door as a group. Mike opens the door cautiously a crack, then kicking it with his foot to open it the whole way.

Inside, they see a man and a woman staring, mouth agape, as the five of them are huddled in the doorway.

"Mike?" the man asks, smiling wide. "Mike Hanlon?"

Mike looks curiously back to the others, who shrug. "Um, hello?"

"It's me, Mike." He gestures to himself. "Stanley Uris."

The others have crowded around the two, a large gap between the two of them, unsure of what to say.

"Yeah, um, this is my wife, Patty." He gestures to the woman standing beside him and she raises her hand in a wave. "Sorry we're late. I was, um." He scratches the back of his head. "I don't really want to talk about it. But the point is, we're here now. It was kind of hard to explain to Patty why I needed to go so suddenly, and she needs to be here per doctor's request, but, um, are you going to just stare at me or actually say something?"

"Are you here to haunt us?" Richie asks, causing the others to glare at him. "What? What the fuck else am I supposed to ask? Bev, you said he was _ dead." _

"I- I-" Bev sputters.

"I'm not dead, okay?" Stan says. "I don't really want to talk about it, but I'm okay."

"The - the - the fucking fortune cookies said you were dead. Remember? _ Guess Stanley couldn't cut it? _Some shit like that? What the fuck? What the absolute fuck?" Bill says, hands on his head.

"You believed that?" Stan asks. "Don't you remember what we used to say? _ It isn't real?" _

He looks to Patty as the others mumble amongst themselves.

"Look," he says, gaining their attention again. "I'm here now. I don't _ want _to think about Neibolt or Pennywise, but I'm going to have to. Losers stick together, right?"

They stare at him for a moment.

"We already defeated the fucking clown!" Richie yells out.

The group yells a cacophony of, "Stan, you ass!" "We thought you were dead!" "Couldn't you phone at least!"

Stan stares at them, a dead look in his eyes. "The fucking clown's dead?"

"Yes!" Richie yells.

"And Eddie's not here and - oh my God, I should have realized. I'm so sorry-"

"He didn't die, he's at the hospital," Mike says, the tension in the room slowly leaving.

"Arm cut clean right off." Richie mimes chopping off his arm. "He's on so many painkillers, so if you _ wanted _to go and ask him anything, he might actually tell you."

"Or he'll call you an asshole because he thought you were dead," Bill adds.

Stan blinks once at them before breaking into a small smile. "I missed you all."

The others crowd around him forming a group hug, then disbanding a minute later.

"Oh, by the way, I'm Richie," he says, holding out his hand to Patty. "Sorry, you must be so confused."

"Oh, no, not at all," she says, shaking Richie's hand. "Stan explained everything to me."

"And you're okay with all of that?" He furrows his brow.

"I didn't understand a damn word of it."

Richie thinks he could get used to her.

*

By the time Eddie's released from the hospital almost a week later, the others (excluding Richie and Mike) have to leave soon. Bill has a wife and a job, Bev and Ben have a new life to start, and Stan just can't take being in Derry anymore. No one blames him.

Richie helps Eddie out the car and up the stairs to his room because he hasn't used his legs in a whole week. He still looks drugged out of his mind, eyes opening and closing, but the doctors had been slowly lessening the painkillers over past couple days so he isn't _ as _out of it as when Richie first saw him. He had probably just been sleeping on a shitty hospital bed.

Mike and Bill decide to stay at the first floor of the inn while Ben and Bev go out to bring real food for everyone.

Richie hoists Eddie up onto the bed, puffing up a pillow and placing it behind his head. Eddie stares at him, or maybe he's staring past him. It's hard to tell.

"Okay, you're good, Eds. If you need something, I'll be just over there." He jerks his thumb in the direction of his room.

"Urgh, don't leave," Eddie says, reaching his arm out and grabbing Richie's wrist and _ how _ could Richie say no to such a face? He's pretty sure there's a drool stain from Eddie's mouth to his chin but _ still. _"Entertain me. My laptop's in one of my luggage bags."

"You have to let go for me find it."

Eddie huffs and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, but lets go. Richie rummages around in the first luggage, tosses clothes everywhere on the floor, and can't find it so he moves to the second luggage. It's resting on top. Richie picks it up and crawls in next to Eddie's left side.

"Oh, I have a good one." He types in a song into the search bar and plays the video.

"How is this funny?" Eddie asks. "This is just a fucking song. Not even a good one."

Richie isn't silent for the entire fifty seconds of the _ Hotel California _intro. "Welcome to the hotel-" the song sings and Richie pauses it.

"Derry," Richie says, as straight face as he can.

He's expecting a _ 'really?' _with as much sarcasm as Eddie's little body can make, but instead gets nothing. He turns his head to look at Eddie and instead finds his eyes closed, mouth open slightly, and head resting on Richie's shoulder.

"Fuck, that was my best joke," Richie mumbles, closing the laptop and leaning his head against Eddie's.

*

In the evening after sunset, Mike gives them all a smile and leads them out into his field with the flashlight on his phone. Richie has his arm wrapped around Eddie's waist because his legs were still probably jelly and he's _ pretty sure _Eddie isn't supposed to get this much simulation so quickly after leaving the hospital, but their friends are leaving in the morning.

"I'm gonna get fucking sporotrichosis and have to go back to the hospital," Eddie says, arm wrapped tight around Richie's waist.

"How do you know what _ that _is?" Mike asks, his phone's flashlight leading the way through the field.

"I wanted an excuse to get out of going to a corn maze one time."

Mike makes a noise that sounds almost like approval.

When they get to the hay bales, they lie down next to one another: Patty and Stan, Bev and Ben, Bill and Mike, then finally Richie and Eddie. Richie can brush his fingers along Eddie's hand and no one's the wiser. If they entwine their fingers together while Mike lists off the stars in the sky, no one has to know.

The group goes silent and Richie nudges Mike with his elbow and whispers, "Hey, it looks like our bird calls worked." Smiling and nodding in the direction of Stan. Mike smiles, elbowing him back.

They won't fall asleep here again; Eddie will walk back on his own before he falls asleep outside when he just got released from the hospital. Richie doesn't mind. He imagines them falling asleep in the same bed together, arm tucked under a head, another thrown over a chest.

They haven't spoken about Eddie coming out to him because he's been on painkillers for almost the entire week, slowly lowering the dosage and the type of pills (which, Richie thinks, makes Eddie a lot less funny), and he wants Eddie to be fully aware when he tells him that he loves him.

The stars shine above them and Richie can fall asleep and not have to worry about any of them forgetting one another. The moon illuminates the eight of them, making Richie vulnerable as he squeezes Eddie's hand. In the morning, he will wake up and Eddie will still be there beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus wraps up the main story! there will be an epilogue (because they're still _in_ derry, and i gotta get em out of derry)  
I'm expecting it to be long because the outline for that chapter is nearly 1500 words lol


	7. Epilogue

_ Epilogue. _

Eddie doesn't know where he can go when this is all over. As per the prenup (which is making the divorce move _ very _ quickly), his apartment is to be sold and his belongings shoved into a storage space he has yet to rent. His mother's apartment was sold years ago and he has no other family he could contact, not that he particularly _ wants _to relocate.

"I guess I'll have to find a new apartment when I leave," Eddie says, sighing. "Not that I don't like you, Mike, but I can't stay in Derry any longer than I have to." He wrinkles his nose.

Mike raises a hand to dismiss the slight. "Don't worry, I don't want to, either."

Richie, standing across the kitchen behind Stan and Patty, looks like he wants to say something but doesn't.

"You know, Patty and I have been talking," Stan starts, causing Eddie to look at him blearily, "and our apartment _ is _in New York City. We know you're going through a divorce right now so we don't mind you staying until you can get back on your feet again."

Richie _ really _looks like he wants to say something and Eddie can't help but quirk the corner of his lips up at him.

"Oh, that would be perfect, Stan. You're in _ New York, _ I'm in _ New York. _ I just really didn't want to leave _ New York," _says Eddie, staring at Richie the whole time.

Patty gives him a look, confused, and follows Eddie's gaze to Richie. Stan rolls his eyes but reluctantly accepts that he's going to be a part of this now.

"Yeah, New York City. It's great. Can't see why anyone would ever want to leave it," Stan says. "So you'll move in with me? At my _ New York City _ apartment that's in _ New York?" _

Richie is giving him the most flat look Eddie could ever imagine and it's taking all of his efforts not to break.

Patty catches on, saying, "Oh, I know. There is _ the best _bar we can take Eddie to. I think it even has a comedy night."

Richie steps forward, hands up defensively, shaking his head. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll move to New York with you guys." He tries to pinch Eddie's cheek and gets his hand slapped. "I get it, Losers stick together."

"Woah, who said you could live with us?" Stan says.

"Yeah, dude. Wow. Presumptuous, much?" Eddie says, eyeing Richie with a smile.

"Fuck you guys! I'm going to phone my agent right now. The plan's already set in stone, the Richie train is leaving the station. New York, here I come!" Richie pulls out his phone and shuffles off into the living room. There's a collective eye-roll between the three of them.

"You know, we're serious," Stan says after Richie has left the room. "We don't mind you staying with us, we have an extra bedroom. If Richie really wants to come to New York, he can stay as well."

"You always were the best," Eddie says, smiling at the two of them, something in his chest fluttering at the idea of him and Richie living under the same roof.

*

Everyone starts to leave shortly after that, piling into a group hug centered around Mike after exchanging phone numbers and addresses and mundane information (their favorite colors, their hobbies, just so they have something to remember vaguely if nothing works out, as Richie had put it.) As it turns out, Stan has lived a block away from Eddie's own apartment for most their lives.

"You can always follow me on Twitter, too," says Richie. "I'm trying to hit a million followers."

Mike, Richie, and Eddie walk the others to their cars, saying a tearful goodbye and a pinkie promise to keep in touch. When the others have driven away, Richie sniffles loudly and wipes at his eyes.

"Think they'll remember us this time?" Richie asks Mike, looking at the road the others drove down.

"I don't know," Mike says, crossing his arms and starting to head back to the inn. "Pennywise is dead, there's no reason for anyone to forget again."

"I'll phone everyone everyday," Richie says. "I don't think I could handle my best friends forgetting me again."

Eddie looks at Richie sadly, eyes wide and watery from the goodbyes.

"What? Got something on my face?" asks Richie, patting his cheek, but his heart isn't in it.

"How long did you remember us while you were in California?" asks Eddie. "I forgot everyone almost the moment I landed. I only remembered to call you guys because my mother mentioned Maine."

Richie clasps his arm around Eddie's shoulder, swiveling them to follow Mike back into the inn. "In California? Not at all. But I stayed in Derry until the end of high school, so I remembered."

Eddie stops abruptly, staring at him. "Bev and I left when we were in middle school."

Mike stops walking to look back at them and gives Richie a knowing look before heading back inside. The two of them move to sit on the bench that lies on the grass outside of the inn.

Richie sighs. "I know, and I remembered you everyday for five years straight." He rests his arm against the back of the bench. "I think I even remembered you past that. Maybe not _ you, _exactly, but your cute little face." He pinches Eddie's nose between his knuckles as Eddie makes a noise, batting at his hand.

"Fuck off." Eddie rubs at his nose. "I think it's the same for me. I became friends with a boy back in high school-"

"I was replaced so quickly." Richie puts a hand to his chest as Eddie glares at him.

"Who made _ shitty _ fucking jokes." Eddie drums his fingers against his knee. "I think I even accidentally called him _ Trashmouth _at one point accidentally just because he reminded me of you."

"I… I made out with a guy because he reminded me of you," Richie says, raw and open, throat dry. "Twice."

"Rich…"

"Yeah, I was just so scared that I never told anyone. I think I must've remembered Henry Bowers at the arcade, back when he called me…" Richie shakes his head. "Well, it wasn't nice of him, anyway."

"Are you…" Eddie starts, trailing off. "Is that what you wanted to tell me in the hospital?"

"Fuck, you remember that?" Richie asks, and Eddie just smiles at him. "Yes, sort of. Actually, I wanted to say something more along the lines of 'Eddie I'm hopelessly in love with you and have been for twenty-seven years' but I guess I have to say it now."

Eddie is watching him, eyes wide, like a deer he might scare off if he got any closer. "Eddie Spaghetti, I, Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier am hopelessly in love with you and have been for twenty-seven years."

Richie looks away, looks at the ground, thinks about running but where would he go? He thinks about his stomach churning as Eddie is as silent as a mouse beside him. He feels the other man slide closer to him, moving his arm to the side of Richie's face.

"Richie, I'm in love with you, too," he says, and drags Richie down to kiss him.

The kiss is sweet and slow and Richie can't help but touch Eddie everywhere, a want to memorize his body for fear he'll disappear again: his hair, his face, over his shoulder and down the one arm, his hands moving to his waist and squeezing tight.

They break apart and stare at one another for a long moment. "Fuck, I love you so much, Eds," Richie says, leaning back in to kiss Eddie again.

"Don't call me that, asshole," Eddie mumbles, but it dies between their lips. He pulls away after a moment. "You know, I saw your shows every time you came to New York. We even met back in that bar in '98."

Richie looks contemplative for a moment before taking in a sharp breath. _ "No…" _

Eddie smiles at him sadly. "Yep. You even called me 'Eddie Spaghetti', too. It's hard to believe we met each other and didn't even realize it."

"I thought about you for _ so _long afterwards. It was so pathetic, like, 'hey, I wonder how's Spaghetti doing?' or 'man I should've got his number.' " He sighs. "I can't believe it was you."

Eddie moves his hand to Richie's shoulder, rubbing circles with his thumb into his collarbone. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

A small smile, Richie's eyes starting to tear up as he grasps Eddie's hand and presses it against his own cheek.

"I'm glad you're alive," Richie says, lips moving to a frown. "I saw your death while I was in the Deadlights. I saw It's claw burst through you like a fucking xenomorph." He moves his free fist to his chest and opens it, trying to mimic a Chestburster but the enthusiasm is gone.

Eddie looks at him sadly, dropping their connected hands between them, and Richie wants to kiss away the frown. He _ totally _could now that they've already confessed their love, but he doesn't because talking about watching someone die in front of you is a total mood killer.

"I saw Stan as well, dead in a bathtub." He shudders. "Wasn't fun in there."

"No kidding." Eddie kicks his foot against the dirt, an act that reminds Richie of childhood. "You saved my life. You pushed me out of the way."

He waves his hand dismissively. "Woulda done it for anyone. I forgot to say, sorry I couldn't grab your arm on the way out. Roof was kinda collapsing, that house was _ not _up to code at all."

"Richie…" 

Richie sniffles and rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand, and Eddie must notice because he leans over into his space as much as he can, pressing his head underneath Richie's. The two find something very interesting in the ground for a minute.

"Tell me something," says Richie, voice watery, and Eddie pulls back to look at his face. "I told you something - _ two _things. Tell me something now."

"I, uh, yeah. Okay." Eddie looks up at the sky to think. "I'm gay and I didn't even know until I was forty."

"That's not something new, you told me that in the hospital."

"What?" Eddie makes a face. "Really?"

"You remembered me telling you that I had sex with someone, but not that you told me you're gay?"

"I was on _ heavy _painkillers!"

Richie rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine, I'll pretend I never heard before. Eddie, you're _ gay? _Thanks so much for telling me. Since we're having this heart-to-heart, I'm bi."

It's Eddie's turn to roll his eyes. "It's not like I saw every tabloid you're ever in."

"Aw, Eds, you're looking out for me. My guardian angel." He leans in to kiss Eddie's cheek with a loud _ mwah! _

He pulls back, holds Eddie's hand between the two of them, and notices things he never got to notice: older face, a bit taller (though not much), crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. Richie wants to spend the rest of the afternoon on this bench, maybe even all of Eddie's stay in Derry, looking for the things that changed in the twenty-seven years: the things Richie himself never got to experience in person.

Eddie kicks out his legs. "What if they have paparazzi in Derry? I'm not divorced yet, adultery might _ completely _stall the divorce process."

Richie gives him a gentle look, kisses the back of his hand. "Relax. They don't have fucking paparazzi in Derry."

"That kid recognized you, back at the Jade."

"One kid isn't paparazzi."

The two sit in silence for another beat.

"I guess I better tell everyone." Richie says, reaching for his phone. "Come out, maybe."

A large cloud passes in front of the sun and casts a shadow over them. Eddie squeezes his hand.

"You don't have to right away, if you don't want to."

"This isn't right away - I must have known for twenty years that I liked men." He's already opening up Twitter. "I just couldn't deal with it."

"And you can now?" The cloud passes and the sun beams back down on the two of them, causing Richie to squint his eyes and turn up the brightness on his phone.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm holding your hand in public in _ Derry." _He types something into his phone. "Gotta start small, right?"

Eddie looks over onto his screen and makes a noise that sounds almost like a hiss. "Wait, are you going to mention me? Don't mention me by name! That's just written proof that I'm an adulterer!"

Richie rolls his eyes but erases a few lines and rewrites it, sending it out to the world. Eddie's phone almost immediately rings and he lets go of Richie's hand to check it, screen lighting up with - what Richie might call - the best thing he's ever seen.

_ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier tweeted: yeah so im bi and dating a man right now (who doesnt want to be named) he's totally real. will @ him and bug him on here when he's divorced _

He has a wide on his face. "You get my tweets to your phone?" He reaches over to pinch Eddie's face, who tries to bat him away with his hand. "Aw, that's just so cute."

"Fuck off, asshole. I get notifications from everyone that I follow."

"Bullshit, I'm calling B.S. - capital B capital S." Richie's already opening up his text messages to send Bill their first real text: _ real quick make a tweet im testing something _

A few moments later, he gets a notification from a mention: _ So I'm in the airport trying to head home, but apparently @trashmouth needs me to tweet something. Much more important. Here you go. _

Eddie's phone doesn't ring. It _ doesn't _ring. Richie gloats by showing him the tweet on the phone.

"I don't follow Bill," says Eddie.

Richie opens up Bill's followers and finds Eddie immediately. He shoves the screen in his face.

"Fuck off."

"Did you get all of my shitty tweets? How long has this been happening? Did you used to jerk off to the thought of my bi-weekly movie reviews?" Richie slides up to him, cramming into Eddie's personal space.

"Beep beep, Trashmouth." He jams his shoulder against Richie's chest, who's laughing wildly and trying to wrap an arm around Eddie's shoulders in a half-hug.

They're interrupted a minute later when Richie's phone rings loud, caller ID showing _ J. Jones _in bright white letters.

"Yello," Richie says. "See my tweet, Jones?"

"Yes, Rich, I saw your tweet. I'm glad."

"But?"

"No buts. Well, a stipulation, almost. Are you there with this guy you're dating right now?"

"Yep, the love of my life - who wishes to remain anonymous as per his lawyer's request - is right here." He ruffles a hand in Eddie's hair, messing it up.

"I want to talk with him."

Richie shrugs and holds it out to Eddie. "He wants to talk to you."

Eddie gives him a look of confusion, but takes the phone anyway.

"Hello." He pauses. "No, we're not dating… No he never asked me out… I'm going through a divorce right now, yes… No, I'm gay… Okay, I will, bye." He hangs up and hands the phone back to Richie. "Jones says to tell you you're an idiot."

"Wait, I never asked you out?" Richie furrows his brow.

"No, you confessed your love and we kissed but you never asked me out."

"Oh." His face falls.

"Still not gonna ask me out?" Eddie bats his eyes.

"This stuff is new to me, man!"

"You've never dated anyone before?!"

"Fuck you!" Richie exclaims, but relaxes when Eddie laughs and nuzzles into his side. Maybe he could get used to this.

*

Richie's in the Deadlights again - or what feels like the Deadlights - but this time, instead of pulling Eddie down, he can only watch as It's claw extend directly through Eddie's heart, a splatter of blood splaying across Richie's glasses.

Or Eddie's the one caught in the Deadlights, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and Richie doesn't know how to make it stop because he's never been as courageous as Eddie has. He watches as Eddie is dropped to the ground, white vacant pupils and no memories of who he is.

Or Eddie's bleeding out in the basement of Neibolt, still alive, wondering why it went so dark and where is everyone? They couldn't carry him out, they said he was already dead.

_ Take me, _ Richie thinks. _ Take me, take me, take me. _

He's being shaken awake by Eddie, snapping open his eyes and seeing Eddie above him again: hair messy, eyes wide, arm missing, heat beating in his chest - alive and unbroken.

"Richie," Eddie whispers, "you were yelling out in your sleep."

Richie embraces him, pulls him tight against his bare chest and holds him there. He can feel a tear, then another, and Eddie must be crying alongside him because his chest is also starting to feel a bit damp. He runs a hand through the back of Eddie's hair, the other tight around his waist. He feels the blood coursing through Eddie's veins, his warm breath exhaling against Richie, fingers grasping into Richie's side.

"You're alive," he whispers back.

"Yeah," Eddie breathes out. "I'm alive."

Richie shifts up to sit against the headboard, dragging Eddie up beside him. "You died, It got you, It's fucking claw and I - I couldn't save you."

Eddie shakes his head, moves his hand to Richie's cheek. "No, I'm alive, Richie. It's dead. Look at me, I'm alive. I'm okay." He kisses Richie on the lips, thumb rubbing against his cheekbone.

Richie buries his face back into Eddie's neck, breathes him in. He's trying to memorize the curve of his body, the smell of his deodorant, the way Eddie's body rests perfectly against Richie's. _ Just in case, _he tells himself, and doesn't want to think of him holding his partner's body like it is destined to crumble in his arms.

*

Richie's bored and he _ knows _Eddie's bored because there's fuck-all to do in Derry when you're not thirteen and naive. Eddie's favorite pastime has been learning to flip various foods one-handed (eggs, pancakes, and Richie's personal favorite: crepes, which he tossed too hard and splattered straight on the ceiling), whereas Richie's favorite pastime has been watching Eddie work his way around the kitchen, apron and all.

A couple of times, late at night, they've made out in the upstairs room of the inn, grinding against one another or sticking their hands in one another's pants, cumming with their faces buried in the other's neck. Just once, Richie had given Eddie head. But the walls are thin - they can hear Mike rummaging around in the attic late at night - and every movement on the bed creaked out a confession, so they don't want to risk doing anything more and have to look Mike in the eyes the next day.

Mike had been busy cleaning up old papers in his house, which Eddie sometimes would help with. Most of the time he avoids talking about Pennywise or the missing children or the fact that he almost died - which Richie can't really blame him for not wanting to talk about. But the other times he's moving about, tossing an armful of papers into the trash at a time with as much force as he had thrown the fence post almost two weeks ago.

"If you have time to lean, you have time to clean," Eddie says, gesturing with his chin to a pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen while Richie is staring at him like he's five and watching the tigers at the zoo. He's cooking Denver sandwiches for the three of them, Richie watching. One sandwich to be delivered to Mike at the library.

"Yessir!" Richie says, saluting Eddie and moving to the dishes. "You know, you're pretty hot in that apron."

"And you're pretty _ not _in that sweater." He scrunches his nose. "How long has it been since you washed that?"

Richie shrugs, filling the sink with water. "I don't know, it's your sweater."

"You're way too big for my sweaters." A pause. "Just don't stretch it." Another pause as Eddie stirs the eggs. "Don't you have any of your own stuff to wear?"

"Nope, someone decided to _ bleed _all over my only one," says Richie and immediately regrets it. They don't talk about Eddie's near-death experience except in the comfort of one another's arms late at night, or what could have happened if Richie didn't pull him down, or if Eddie was standing only a few more inches to the right.

He sees Eddie freeze, hand still on the pan's handle. "Right, sorry," he mumbles.

Richie stops washing a dish, lets it drop into the sink, and moves to Eddie, who's as still as he could be. He turns him around to face one another and snakes his arms around the other's waist, Eddie's back against the oven door's handle, and holds him. Eddie brings his hand up to Richie's back, their legs entangled, head tucked into his shoulder.

"I'd let you bleed all over every single one of my clothes if it meant we could stay here like this forever," he mumbles into Eddie's hair, who only rubs Richie's back in response.

"What about work?" Eddie asks, muffled by Richie's shoulder.

"Don't need it. We'll be squatters in Mike's house."

Eddie hums. "Maybe not forever."

"No, forever."

The two sink into one another's embrace for a few more moments before Eddie pulls away.

"Can't be forever," he says, "the eggs are burning." He turns back around to move the pan off the element and turn off the heat. "Okay, now it can be forever." He nestles back into Richie's embrace, heat beats synching with one another as they let their food grow cold. He wouldn't have it any other way.

*

Richie shows Eddie the kissing bridge and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest, lungs constrict, as Eddie sees the adoration and love he's had for him, signed permanently in a public place as _ R + E. _

Eddie runs his fingers across the grooves of the letters as they crouch down beside one another, knees touching.

"When did you do this?" he asks.

"Oh, like, when we were thirteen," he responds, and Eddie whips his head towards him. "After I went to an arcade and Bowers said some pretty choice words to me."

"What?" Eddie asks, voice small.

"Yeah, didn't I tell you? Bowers said some horrible shit to me and I guess I was just so madly in love with you that I decided to carve this right afterwards."

"Not _ that." _ Eddie pauses. "No, maybe that. But _ thirteen? _You've been in love with me since you were thirteen?"

Richie gives him a look. "Yeah? Didn't I tell you that already? Twenty seven years pretty much implies 'since I was thirteen'."

Eddie goes back to examining the bridge. "Hearing 'thirteen years old' sounds so much different than twenty seven years ago."

"They're pretty much the exact same."

"I don't know! Good marriages can last over twenty seven years, but thirteen years old… Fuck. I look at a thirteen year old and go 'that's a baby.' "

"You _ haven't _been in love with me for that long as well? Don't tell me you only just discovered your preferences went far beyond your average 'straight' guy going through a midlife crisis. Wanting to kiss the greasy, funny guy isn't how I picture most gay awakenings."

"No, I've… I've been in love with you for twenty seven years as well," says Eddie. "You're not funny though, don't give yourself that much."

"So if we've been in love with one another since we were thirteen," Richie starts, "why the fuck did it take so long for us to finally kiss?"

"My mother, for one," he starts, sadly, "she used to tell me I shouldn't hang around people like you because I'd get sick."

"Fuck her."

Eddie stares solemnly down at the bridge. "What about you? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Henry Bowers. Getting called a fairy at age thirteen doesn't exactly make you want to come out."

"Yeah." Eddie nods once.

"And the fucking clown."

"Fuck him."

Richie smiles a small smile at him. "This whole fucking town, man. That's why we weren't swapping spit back then."

"Fuck Derry," Eddie says.

"Yeah! Fuck Derry!" He places his arm around Eddie's shoulders. "Want to inscribe that below our initials?" Richie roots around in his (Eddie's) sweater pocket and pulls out the small Swiss Army Knife he had borrowed from Mike's house before taking Eddie out on this adventure, handing it to him with a swoop of his hand.

"It would be an honor," says Eddie, taking the knife and carving into the wood.

*

Eddie is allowing himself to get on an airport and fly. The doctor had told him ten days after surgery before flying, which is already six days ago, but Eddie had said he wanted to be certain nothing will happen on the flight home. Richie can't complain, the two of them are making up for twenty seven years of lost time.

Plus, Mike has started packing bags in a not-so-subtle attempt at telling them to _ get the hell out of his house already. _They have places to be back to: tours and jobs and Mike wants to move to Florida like an old man, so they pack their bags and haul them out to their respective cars (Richie internally cursing the separate vehicle situation they have going on) and start to say their goodbyes to Mike.

"We'll phone you everyday," says Eddie.

"Yeah, if we start to forget again, just phone us!" Richie exclaims.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," says Mike.

The three of them embrace, sharing a long, teary-eyed group hug before having to let go and waving goodbye to Mike one last time. Before they get into their respective cars, Richie stops Eddie with a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," he says, "is that even legal?"

"What?"

"Like, driving with one arm?"

Eddie looks down at his missing arm then back to Richie. "I don't actually know. This is a rental car, I have to get it back at least."

"Let's just, like, buy it outright, then we don't have to return it."

"That is the worst idea you've ever suggested."

"You have any better ideas then?"

"Yeah, it's called driving slow and don't get pulled over! The airport's only like an hour away!"

"Doing _ 60!" _ Richie exclaims.

Mike clears his throat, standing a few feet away as he watches them argue. "I just looked it up. It's not illegal."

Eddie gloats at Richie, who sticks his tongue out in return.

"Goodbye for real, Mike," says Eddie, getting into his car.

"I'll phone you when I land," says Richie, stepping into his own car.

The drive to the airport is long and boring, so he talks to himself. He's taken the role of driving behind Eddie because as good a driver as Richie knows he is, driving with one arm is new and unpracticed for him.

He talks to himself in the car, waving his hand around and gesturing and at one point he sees Eddie looking at him in the rearview mirror at a stoplight, eyebrow raised.

At the airport - rental cars returned and having an annoying amount of late fees (fighting a space monster is, apparently, not a very valid excuse) - they have to say their goodbyes to one another.

He holds Eddie's hand, his other hand holding his luggage. "I won't forget you."

"You better not," says Eddie. "You better phone me as soon as you land."

"Don't you worry, Eds, you'll be getting calls every hour until I arrive in New York and see your cute face again." He moves his hand from Eddie's hand to his nose, squeezing it and letting go. Eddie scrunches his nose up. "I'll even post about you on Twitter everyday, just so you know I'm always thinking about you."

"Please don't. I'll have you know I _ am _still going through a divorce."

"I'll keep your name secret, just like John Keats: 'Me and my beloved are miles apart, but our love remains but two candles in a breeze'," says Richie with a British accent.

"About to be extinguished?"

Richie frowns. "Don't blow holes in my poem."

An announcement comes on overhead, announcing that Richie's plane is starting to board.

"Better go. I'll text you right until I run out of service." He leans in and kisses Eddie's cheek, then his lips. "I promise."

With that, he hustles off to his plane, texting Eddie every little minute detail until he runs out of service.

*

When he lands in California, the first thing he does is phone Eddie, who should have landed at least six hours before him. It rings and rings and rings before he picks up.

"The eagle has landed," Richie says and hears Eddie let out a loud breath. He can hear other people talking in the background.

"Forget anything yet?"

"I could never forget how cute you are, Eds. I remember Mike and Derry, and, oh, Stan! Is he there now?" He walks and talks with the phone to his ear, sees someone in the airport stare at him and point him out to his friend.

"Yeah, he's here," Eddie says, and Richie can hear shuffling before Stan is on the line.

"How was the plane ride?" asks Stan.

"Hey! Not too bad. Are you taking care of my Eds?" he asks, and can only imagine Stan rolling his eyes through the phone.

"He's a grown man, he can take care of himself."

"Yeah, but your apartment is different than his old one. What if he wants to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and trips and falls because he didn't know where your kitchen was?"

"We lived a block away from one another, the apartments are the exact same." He pauses and Richie can hear Eddie's voice in the background, talking fast and doing what Richie can only imagine is complaining. "Here, he wants to talk to you again." There's some more shuffling as they switch.

"Richie?" asks Eddie.

"Yes, my love of my life, beloved, darling, sweetheart?" He asks, trying to ham it up to Eddie.

"Will you stop worrying and get your ass over here already?"

"Anything for you, the light of my life, apple of my-" He gets cut off by Eddie hanging up on him.

*

When he's in the taxi back to his own apartment, he phones Jones.

"Rich? What do you need?" Jones asks.

"Remember when I phoned you to discuss moving to New York?" He asks, and Jones makes a noise of affirmation. "Well, I'm back in L.A. right now and I'm thinking about going through with it."

"Tonight?"

"No, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?"

Jones doesn't say anything for a moment. "All right. Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. I have a friend who's an agent who's based in New York. I'll give you his number so you can phone him." He hears Jones shuffling around with some papers and writing something down. "Is this because you want to live with your boyfriend?"

Richie makes a noise. "What? _ No? _ What gave you that idea? _ " _He makes a noise. "I'm just totally having a midlife crisis right now and want some change of scenery."

"You've been tweeting about how much you miss him since you landed," says Jones. "Just tell me it's because of him, I don't care."

Richie scoffs, then laughs. "Yeah, okay, it's because of him. I really… I really like him."

"That's great, Richie. If you're happy, I'm happy. Keep in touch, though. We've been friends for almost twenty years." He pauses. "And, if you two happen to be in L.A., I want to meet this guy that's captured your heart."

"Of course, Jones," he says. "Thank you."

*

They've been separated for almost two weeks now and Eddie misses Richie more each day. It feels worse now that he can remember who Richie actually is, but giving up the loneliness means forgetting again, which thinking about makes Eddie want to throw up.

They phone everyday after Eddie's work (which he has gone back to, but with as many hours working from home as he possibly can. His boss had understood the moment he walked in missing an arm). Richie puts him on speakerphone as he packs, dropping boxes in the background and swearing when it lands on his foot. He tells him about his day and Eddie has to strain his ears because Richie has a habit of walking too far away from his phone to grab something.

"I didn't know I had so many fucking coffee cups." Eddie can hear the clinking of glasses in the background. "I didn't know I drank this much coffee."

"Your mouth probably tastes like the inside of a Starbucks," Eddie says, sitting at the kitchen table.

"You're imagining what my mouth tastes like?"

"Yeah, I imagine it tastes like ass."

"If it tastes like ass, it better be _ your _ass, Eds."

Eddie groans loudly. "When are you getting over here?" he asks.

"One more week. I have the apartment contract cancelled and almost all of my things packed. I'll be selling furniture, but the things I'm keeping should arrive in a few weeks. That means we'll have to share a bed." Eddie can imagine Richie's exaggerated wink over the phone. "Think Stan and Patty will enforce an open-door policy when I get over there?"

"They're too busy keeping their own door closed for them to care what we do."

"Woah, Stan the Man getting laid?" Richie clicks his tongue. "I can't imagine it."

"He _ is _married." Eddie puts the phone down and sets it on speakerphone, then runs a hand through his hair. "They told me that they've been trying to conceive for a few months now."

"Wow, tell them I said good luck." Richie pauses. "Can you hear them through the door?"

"Yes, they're annoyingly loud."

"Does hearing them turn you on? If it does, we have an untapped source of audio material right in our very apartment."

"Beep fucking beep, Richie."

*

When Richie gets to New York, Eddie meets him in the airport and Richie bends him backwards to kiss him as low as he can. He tows behind him an actual suitcase this time instead of the bag he first packed in one hand, Eddie's hand in the other.

"Have you phoned any of the others yet?" asks Eddie as they drive down the roads to Stan's apartment.

"Yeah, I've been phoning Bev and keeping her updated. She's living with Ben now. Did you know he owns a fucking houseboat?" Eddie laughs, Richie's hand moves to his knee and rests there.

"I've texted Bill and Mike and - honest to God - Bill texts like a sixty year old," Eddie says.

"He did always act like the oldest out of all of us."

"I know, but this is something else. He signs all his texts with _ Bill Denbrough, _like he's emailing a client or something!" Eddie looks at Richie and smiles. "I'm glad we're keeping in touch, though."

Richie smiles back, a soft expression on Eddie's face that Richie wants to memorize. "Yeah, me too."

*

After two months of living at Stan and Patty's apartment and decidedly annoying them enough for a lifetime, the two finally find their own apartment to move into. Richie's belongings had arrived to Stan's apartment over the course of the week and they had to cram it all into their bedroom, boxes piling high above their heads and nearly causing Eddie to have an aneurysm with how unsafe it was.

But another reason Richie is glad is because he no longer has to hear Stan and Patty having sex the next bedroom over. Sure, it's _ their _apartment, but they couldn't wait until they were asleep? Or maybe go to the living and do it there? Richie can't take one more night of it, but unfortunately they were going to have to. They can't move in until tomorrow.

Richie stares at the ceiling. "We're forty years old! Who has sex this much at forty?!"

"I mean, we do," Eddie says, shoulder touching Richie's.

"Yeah, but _ we _haven't been married for however long they have."

_ "We _ aren't married."

"Yet," Richie says, and Eddie stays silent.

Eddie's divorce has been finalized quickly: a prenup, uncontested, and over $1200 a month in spousal support. He hadn't been too happy about that, but he knew it was inevitable, even with the prenup.

Richie had been happy about being able to finally speak openly about Eddie online, starting with a photo of the two of them, his arm slung around Eddie's shoulders and his own around Richie's waist, captioned with _ my bf is actually real @ekaspbrak cant believe you guys didn't believe me. _

The responses had been immediate and happy, fans screaming out online for more photos of them, which Richie was more than happy to provide. Eddie shied away from the camera at first, but now starts to lean into it being another aspect of Richie's life, unguarded and open.

*

Richie has been getting back into writing more stand up, including a lot more jokes about him and Eddie together, about being bi and dating an angry, short gay man, about all of the things he never wanted to talk about before. Jones had set him up with a new agent based in New York, ending the call by telling Richie he thinks him and Eddie are a good match. He's scheduled to go on tour at the end of the year around New York, just to get a feel for the area, and Eddie promises he'll come to all of the shows.

In a new Skype group chat that Mike had set up for the Losers to use (which Eddie, much to his chagrin, had a lot of trouble setting up), they video chat one another once a week. They talk about their lives, about their jobs, about a plan to get together once Mike is back up north again. Stan announces one day, out of the blue, that Patty is pregnant and the group gets excited, making a plan to get together for the baby shower.

A week later, Bill messages the group and tells them he's going to be in New York for a book signing later in the year, and that they should come see him if they can.

"That's just an excuse for you to buy his latest book," Richie says, looking over the scheduled dates.

Eddie points with his thumb to a package on the table in the shape of a book. "I think he already sent me a copy."

"Think it's signed, too?_ 'To my biggest fan, Eddie Kaspbrak. Love, Bill Denbrough'." _

"We wouldn't need to go to the signing if he did that, then."

*

They're at the book signing because they haven't seen Bill in person in months and they were starting to miss him. Of course, that's mostly Richie's excuse. Eddie's excuse is that he's _ told _Bill that he read all of his books, so he's coming here as a fan.

Eddie may have gotten used to Richie's incessant need to upload photos of them to Instagram or tweeting about him, but he hasn't gotten used to the paparazzi. A few people crowd around the two of them when they're outside of the book store, asking for a photo. Richie happily obliges, and Eddie may not be used to being famous-by-proxy, but he tries his best.

"So, how did you lose your arm?" one of them asks him after the photo.

Eddie thinks of a million and one different diseases or illnesses or reasons to amputate an arm, but instead - caught by surprise - blurts out, "Uh, an angry clown attacked me."

Richie looks like he's trying to hold back a laugh, though there's a soft look in his eyes, like he's ready to swoop in if Eddie starts looking uncomfortable.

The group makes a face and hisses _ yeowch. _"Like, at a circus? Or was it Cirque du Soleil?"

"Oh, neither. It was a birthday clown," Eddie answers, a blank expression on his face.

"Yikes. Proves my point that all clowns are evil." They leave after their goodbyes and thank yous.

Richie grabs Eddie's hand, walking inside together. "You didn't have to answer them, you know. They won't die if they don't have every single piece of information about you."

Eddie shrugs. "I think it's good to joke about _ It. _We defeated It by calling it a fucking clown, so why not joke a little."

Richie looks thoughtful for a moment then nods. "Right, yeah. It's just a fucking rogue birthday clown now. A _ dead _birthday clown."

Eddie squeezes his hand and smiles up at him.

*

Inside the bookstore, they see Bill and give him a small wave. There's already a longer line than Eddie would have expected so early in the signing, but he waits patiently in line. A few more people recognize them, ask for autographs or photos, and they finally get to the front of the line.

"Hey! I didn't know if you guys would make it," Bill says. "If I had known you were here, I could have let you in early."

Richie waves a hand. "Nah, it's fine. But look at _ you, _though, touring around the country, getting more movie deals. Finally writing endings that don't suck?"

Bill smiles. "Some would say this ending is _ actually _good for a change."

Eddie hands him his copy of his book. "Will you sign this? I want people to know that I met someone famous."

"Hey, I'm _ right _ here!" says Richie as Bill takes the book and scribbles a _ To Eddie -B. Denbrough. _

Bill passes the book back to him. "I mean, you did meet famous architect Ben Hanscom _ and _fashion designer Beverly Marsh. I wish I knew someone as famous as them."

Richie takes a book off the display rack and steals Bill's marker, signing a _ To Bill ♥ With love, Trashmouth, _and hands it back to him. "Now you have."

He takes it and makes a face. "Hm, I've never heard of you before in my life," he says, a bit too loud because someone walks over to the three of them.

"Please, there's other people waiting," he says, then leans in to Bill's ear and whispers loud enough that the two of them can hear, "Are these two bothering you? Want me to get security to escort them out?"

Richie and Eddie turn to look at one another, before looking back to Bill, who smiles at the two of them and Richie thinks he sees the clickbait titles now: _ This Comedian Got Kicked Out of Bill Denbrough's Book Signing. _

"Nah, they're my friends. We grew up together," he says, and Eddie lets out a breath.

The man gives the two of them a look. "Okay, but your slot is over in less than an hour, so you may want to hurry along," he says, and walks back to his spot against the wall.

Eddie gives Bill a smile. "Sorry, we'll leave."

"Wait, I didn't get a signed book," Richie says, frowning.

"Oh, that's right, sorry," Bill says, taking the one Richie signed and crossing out the names.

_ Richie _ _ Bill _  
_ To _ <strike> _ Bill _ </strike> _ ♥ With love, _ <strike> _ Trashmouth _ </strike>

"It's perfect, thank you," Richie says, and the two of them leave with a goodbye wave to Bill and two signed books.

*

Richie makes it a habit to try and keep up to date with Jones, because despite being agent and client, they still knew one another for twenty years. He calls him and tells him about his day, how Eddie's doing, how his comedy act is coming along. Jones, in return, likes to complain about various upcoming roles in the city.

He phones one day while Eddie's at his physical work instead of working from home, so Richie has the apartment to himself. He answers Jones with a _ hello. _

"Rich, how are you doing? Have you gotten tired of New York yet?" he asks.

Richie flops back onto the couch, legs hanging off the armrest. "Never. How could I get bored when I'm with my husband, the love of my life?"

Jones is silent, which is never good, because that means he's _ mad. _

"Um? What did I say, Jones?" he asks.

"You got married without telling me?"

"No?" Richie sits up, leaning on his elbow. "I think you'd be like, _ at least _the third person to know if I got married. Bev being first, Twitter being second."

"You _ just _called him your husband!"

"I did fucking not!" Richie pauses, trying to think back on his conversation. "Oh, fuck, I totally did, didn't I?"

"Yeah! You did!"

"Well that's because I love him like a husband!"

"If you love him like a husband, why don't you propose?" Jones asks, causing Richie to flop back down against the couch.

"Propose? I don't think I can do that. What if he says no?"

"You think Eddie goddamn Kaspbrak - the man _ you _ keep saying has been in love with you for almost thirty years, who watches all of your comedy acts and buys all of your merch, and divorced his wife for you - is going to say _ no?" _

Well, it sounds stupid when he puts it out like that, but Richie gets nervous easily. "...Yes?"

"He's not going to say no!" Jones makes a noise of frustration. "Rich, please believe me when I say he is as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him."

"You don't know that!"

"No offense, but no one else on this earth would put up with you unless they've known you their whole life - which _ he _has."

"Gee, thanks, Jones." He rolls his eyes.

"No problem. Now, go buy a ring, you idiot."

*

He consults with Bev and Ben in a video call about his decision almost immediately after, who tell him that Eddie will absolutely _ not _ say no. He phones Stan, who asks if he's an idiot. He texts Bill, who responds with an _ Are you serious? _And finally, he video calls Mike while he's relaxing on a Miami beach, sunglasses reflecting the screen back at the camera.

"Are you asking me if Eddie is going to say no?" he asks, after Richie has finished rambling his story about Jones and calling Eddie his husband.

"Yes!" He waves a hand around. "What if he laughs in my face!"

"You're a comedian, haven't you dealt with hecklers before?" Mike takes a sip of some sort of fruity concoction.

"Yeah, but not ones that I was in love with!" He presses his fingers into his cheeks. "I don't even know his ring size."

"It's nine," he says, nonchalantly.

Richie pauses. "How do you know that?"

Mike smiles at him, shrugs. "He told me."

He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, as something clicks in his mind. "Really?!" he asks, exasperatedly.

Mike raises the glass at the camera. "Good luck," he says, ending the call.

*

They're at a too-fancy restaurant that Richie thinks he looks way out of place at, contrasted with Eddie who looks good in absolutely anything. They look through their menus (foods which Richie can't even pronounce).

He's ready, he has a ring in his pocket that's burning a hole into him. He can't sit still, shifting in his seat so much that Eddie is raising an eyebrow at him.

The waiter comes back a few minutes later and places a glass in front of them, starts with Richie to take his order.

"Yeah, I'll have the uh… Coor de fillet de beef wellington?" Richie asks, pointing to the menu. The waiter nods, seemingly understanding his messed up French. The pointing probably helped.

"I'll have the filet de loup au citron, s'il vous plaît," Eddie says, and the waiter takes their menus and heads back to the kitchen.

"What exactly did I order?"

"Center cut of beef tenderloin," he answers, taking a sip of his champagne.

"And how the fuck could you pronounce that?"

Eddie smiles, shrugging. "Took a few French classes in University."

"That would do it," Richie says, and runs out of things to say because he's _ distracted. _Richie never runs out of things to say, which makes this so difficult. He doesn't know the timings on these things, when to propose, what to say. Should he get down on one knee in front of the whole restaurant or should he do it over the table? What if he accidentally knocks the glass over as he's trying to do it, spills it all over Eddie, and then he gets pissed off at him? There were so many possibilities.

He watches Eddie take another sip of champagne and holds it up, tipping it towards him to toast. Richie scrambles to pick up his own glass and taps it against Eddie's. "A toast to us," he says.

Richie takes a sip and stops because there's something in the fucking glass. Something small, sitting at the bottom, and he tries to get a better look at it. When he fishes it out, he holds it out and looks at Eddie, his smile causing wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It's a fucking ring.

"Eds…" he says, holding the ring between his thumb and first finger delicately, like it might shatter. It looks _ expensive. _

"Richie," Eddie starts, sitting further upright and fiddling with his hand against his knee, eyes turned to Richie's with adoration, "I know we haven't been together for that long, but I've been in love with you for almost thirty years. Will you marry me?"

Richie jumps up out of his seat and scrambles to Eddie's side, wrapping his arms around his neck, feeling Eddie's arm loop around his back. He can see people staring, maybe even someone taking a photo because _ Trashmouth just got proposed to in public, _but he doesn't care because Eddie just fucking proposed to him.

Then, he remembers his own ring, so he gets down on one knee in front of Eddie, pulls out his own box and holds it open to show him. "You beat me to it, Eds," he says, voice watery with tears.

And Eddie is pulling Richie back up to eye level, kissing him gently on the cheek, on the nose, to his lips, then to his hand, extracting the ring carefully from Richie's palm and placing it on his hand. Richie does the same to Eddie, though his hands shake with nerves and he can barely steady them.

They kiss again and pull away, and maybe he hears a few cheers but he's too focused on the man in front of him: Eddie Spaghetti, Eds, the love of his life, his _ fiancé. _

*

They tell the others the next day as soon as they wake up. The previous they had gotten preoccupied kissing one another down their bodies to really remember to tell the others, so they have to do it in the morning.

It's _ way _ too early for anyone else apparently, so Richie leaves a message in the group chat: _ announcement! everyone vc when online! _

"Can I tell my followers?" Richie asks for once in his life, and Eddie thinks for a moment before nodding. He immediately pulls out his phone.

"Wait, am I going to regret this?" Eddie asks, and Richie shrugs comedically.

He takes Eddie's hand and places his own next to it, rings showing, and takes a photo. He posts it and Eddie's phone buzzes immediately.

"Aw, sweetheart, you still have notifications on for my tweets?"

Eddie scoffs but pulls out his phone anyway.

_ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier tweeted: didnt even get prenuped, _it reads, with the photo attached.

He gets another notification right after. _ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier tweeted: hi dear💕 _

Eddie looks at Richie and takes a photo of him, types something into his phone.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak replied: Postnuptial is a thing, _he responds with a photo of Richie looking part confused, part lovestruck into the camera.

His phone buzzes a few moments later, a message from Bill.

_ Why didn't you tell us first?!?! _

_ i did check the gc _

There's no response from Bill until Skype rings. Richie answers it immediately and slides up next to Eddie as close as he can get.

"Telling us to phone you _ is not _telling us first," Bill says, a smile on his face.

"Well _ sorry _you didn't answer on the first ring!" Richie says, laughing.

They talk for awhile, catch up on the few weeks since Bill was in New York, and eventually the others slowly start to join in: Bev first (Ben cooking breakfast in the kitchen), then Mike, then finally Stan and Patty (who's out of frame because Stan can't center cameras worth a damn).

They offer their congratulations and ideas for wedding planning and Bev says she can send over her list of wedding ideas and everything they need.

"Wait, Bev, you guys got married?" asks Richie, and Bev holds up her finger, a gold band on it. "And you didn't even tell us?" He places his hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"How does it feel to be on the receiving end?" she asks, smiling. Ben comes into frame and leans down, kisses her on the cheek, then holds up his own hand.

"We didn't have a ceremony, don't worry," Ben says.

"If we did, we'd definitely let Richie be the wedding singer."

Richie pumps his fist once. "Who'd be your best man?" he asks, batting his lashes.

"Oh, Eddie, definitely," Ben says.

"Yeah, he was always the most cautious one, so he'd be looking out for any mishaps," Bev adds.

Richie gives Eddie a dirty look and pushes him with his shoulder. The eight of them chat about weddings ideas and themes and have a plan to meet up later in the year to see Stan and Patty's baby.

*

Richie's on his first showing of his tour around New York City. Eddie has a ticket for front row seats because Richie wants to see his reaction when he talks about him in front of a thousand eyes.

"Richie," Eddie starts while they're in a car, driving them to the theater, "I love you, but _ do not _ put that fucking joke in."

"I can't just change the act, Eds. It would mess up my flow." He kisses Eds on the forehead and the car stops pulls up and stops. "You'll love it, the audience will love it. Trust me."

Eddie sighs loudly. "I'm walking out when you start telling that joke."

"You'll come back, though, right?" Richie pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. 

"Of course I'll come back, asshole, I just don't want to stick around for that."

When the lights go down and the person on the speaker calls out Richie's name, he walks up on stage with a wave and a _ 'hello, New York City, how ya doing tonight?' _ which earns a cacophony of cheers. Richie grabs the microphone, leans into it, and looks Eddie right in the eyes (at least, he's assuming it's Eddie. The lights are too bright for any sort of distinguishable features in the audience.)

"So I was sucking my husband's cock the other night," he starts, and watches as Eddie stands up and walks right out of the theater. Richie smiles a shit-eating grin as the audience chuckles nervously, unsure of whether or not it's a bit. Richie clears his throat.

"Okay, he's gone. That's just my husband, everyone." The audience cheers. "Don't worry about him, he's gonna walk back in with a white wine in about five minutes. I just needed him out of listening range when I say how deeply I am in love with him, and that's not the _ only _thing I'm deep in."

The audience laughs and Richie smiles at them. "Maddeningly in love, but if he hears me say that, he's gonna use it against me. Like, 'yeah, I know you made dinner last night, but _ you're _ the one who told the world he's in love with me, so maybe _ you _can make it again tonight'. He's a complete bastard and I love that about him."

Eddie comes back a few minutes later, white wine in hand like Richie predicted, and the audience cheers as Richie extends an open palm to point him out. Eddie just covers his face with the crook of his elbow in embarrassment and the rest of the show continues, earning cheers and applaud and Richie has never felt so full of excitement in his life.

*

They settle into domestic life naturally. Being _ Richie "Trashmouth" Kaspbrak _ now comes with no noticeable difference to him than with _ Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier. _Though, he must admit, being connected not only mind and body but also name fills Richie's heart with a love he never knew existed.

Stan and Patty have their child, a beautiful baby boy whom they name James after Stan's grandfather. Everyone had flown in a week before Richie and Eddie's wedding to coo over the baby and catch up in person.

Jones likes to phone Richie late Sunday evenings to catch up. He had heard about the wedding through Richie himself instead of being notified by a post and had hopped on a plane and flown to New York.

Sometimes Richie and Eddie argue, arguments that could have been avoided - looking back - if they had stepped back from the situation. But they don't go to bed angry and they talk and they learn to take a step back and assess the situation. They learn to exist around one another, coincide and manage one another's problems in their own way.

Richie will sometimes awake in the middle of the night, grasping for Eddie to make sure he's there, he's _ alive. _ Eddie likes to hold the sides of his arms, lean against his chest, and whisper, _ "I'm here, I'm alive, you can feel my heartbeat." _The nightmares seldom happen, but they do happen.

Eddie doesn't have prominent nightmares, but the fears are more prominent during the day, his mother's words a constant despite her having passed years ago: contagions and diseases, of someone dying in a car crash, in a natural disaster. Richie likes to help Eddie in any way he can, washing vegetables twice or cooking food past its recommended temperature. There's no more medications or inhalers, Richie would never let that happen to him again.

Their love is no longer confined to closed doors, drunken accidents, darkened corners of bars: Richie tells the world everyday how much he loves Eddie, and Eddie in return goes to work with a spring in his step and the ring on his finger, engraved with a simple _ R + E. _

There's no more dark days, familiar faces in passing, a name on the tip of their tongues that won't speak the words. They remember Derry, they remember their childhood, and best of all, they remember one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it! i absolutely loved writing this so i hope everyone enjoyed this as much as i did. im going to go lie in a pond now!  
I really wanted to write a wedding scene, but realized if i did, i definitely would have made it 10k words and i was just not up for that lol, forgive me this time.
> 
> Also, other twitter captions for their engagement that didn't make the cut:  
_fucked his mom now im fucking him_  
_bout to change my handle to richie "trashmouth" kaspbrak_
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading!!


End file.
